


Elementary 10: The Great Man Abroad (1887-1888)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary: The Complete Cases of Castiel Novak (and Dean Winchester) [10]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Castiel's Trenchcoat, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Gay Sex, Handcuffs, Impersonation, LARPing, M/M, Murder, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Case 37. SWAP MEAT (The Affair Of The King Of Scandinavia)<br/>Case 38. BLOODY MARY (The Matter Of The Dutch Princess)<br/><b>Case 39. DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY (formerly 'The Adventure Of The Noble Bachelor')</b><br/>Case 40. THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (The Case Of The Vatican Cameos)<br/><b>Case 41. DARK SIDE OF THE MOON (formerly 'The Valley Of Fear')</b><br/>Case 42. HOUSES OF THE HOLY (The Killing At The Trepoff Monastery In Odessa)<br/><b>Case 43. THE GIRL NEXT DOOR (formerly 'A Scandal In Bohemia')</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

It will be remembered that, during our last case, the obnoxious Mr. Balthazar Novak was again pestering his brother to help sort out whatever political mess the current government had landed itself in, and that my beloved Cas insisted on our finishing our current case before helping. As things turned out that crisis petered out, although almost inevitably it was followed by another one, this time rather more serious. And this time, Cas and I had to travel abroad to sort out a mess of his brother's own making. For which, predictably, neither of us received much in the way of gratitude.

We had technically left England already in the pursuance of our last case, via Monmouthshire to the Isle of Man, but now we were about to go overseas for a long period of time, prompted partly by certain events in my own life that proved, as if it ever needed proving, just how much Cas loved me. It would not be inaccurate to say that our trip was rather forced, but Cas turned it into something rather more, and took me right across the Continent, solving crime as he went. There was only one slight hiccough, involving a certain place called the Reichenbach Falls......


	2. Case 37: Swap Meat (1887)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously unpublished, mentioned elsewhere as ‘the case of the King of Scandinavia’.

I

When my original sixty stories about my adventures with the blue-eyed genius were published, I received, as I have said, many questions through the general post. The attention focused on the two of us was warming if sometimes a little creepy, and people were often quick to pull me up on apparent mistakes. One of the lesser-asked questions was as to what was happening during the times between adventures. Oddly enough the demands on Cas' time (and patience) varied, leaving apparent times when nothing happened. Of course there were the terrible hiatuses, but generally these ‘missing months’ were accounted for by a plethora of uninteresting cases, rather than any major ones.

Talking of major cases, I can now reveal the sequence of events that really led Cas and I to undertake our travels on the Continent of Europe, solving mysteries in ‘furrin parts where they don't speak English’, as Mrs. Harvelle called them (she had a rifle, so I just nodded). It is well documented that Cas preferred to stay in London where possible, so I did receive several inquiries as to our sudden burst of adventures overseas. The real reason was shrouded in mystery at the time to protect an innocent young girl called Miss Anne Aston, who having since grown up and married, and discovered her late mother's true character, asked me to publish her parent's actions, stating that she wanted them laid bare to silence ongoing family debate over that lady's true character.

Know, then, that the very day after our return from the Isle of Man, I chanced to have to treat Mrs. Ophelia Aston, widow of the recently-departed Member for Parliament for Derbyshire, James Aston. She had thought herself pregnant, which at fifty would have been surprising, and I managed to convince her she was not. She was one of those large simpering women, and for once I wished I had Cas' magical powers when it came to soothing the opposite gender.

I thought nothing more of the encounter until the following day, when 221B Baker Street was befouled with the arrival of Mr. Jason Tucker, Mrs. Aston’s solicitor. Apparently the woman was claiming that I had 'fondled' her during my examination the day before (in all honesty, I would sooner have 'fondled' her pet bulldog!). I was dumbfounded, but Cas – Cas was furious! Though he was not exactly built for it, Mr. Tucker fairly sprinted out of our rooms, pursued by an enraged and snarling blue-eyed alpha some way down Baker Street! Cas was a terror when roused, as I well knew.

Over the following few days, I learnt just how much of a terror. The full weight of the Novak family was thrown into my defence (Cas told me he had his mother’s absolute support, which meant everyone else in the family knew very well to keep quiet or risk her wrath), and both the family lawyers and a team of private investigators fell on Mrs. Aston. Within an impressive twenty-four hours it had emerged that she had tried this ramp when her first husband had died and successfully ruined another doctor, gaining herself a considerable sum in the process. Cas demanded either that she leave the country, or sign over the bulk of her wealth to her only daughter Anne, to be run by independent lawyers on her behalf for the next fifteen years until she reached twenty-one. Anne was already being raised by Mrs. Aston's sister Mrs. Meyer, as her mother had thus far evinced little interest in her.

It was not so much the case, of course – any jury would have thrown it out in minutes, I was sure – but the damage to my good name. The allegations against me had made the papers at the start of November, albeit the inside pages, and the surgery suggested an immediate holiday ‘to let the fuss die down’. I became increasingly depressed in the week that followed, despite the successful resolution of the case and the near-ruination of the siren, and I knew that my friend was worried about me.

I did not know, however, just how far he would be prepared to go in order to help me out. All the way to the far side of the German Ocean!

+~+~+

“Balthazar wishes me to investigate a case for him”, Cas said one morning just over a week later.

I nodded, not even looking up from my paper. I was only thankful that the lounge-lizard had not come to make his request in person. I did not need my current cartload of misery to be even further augmented.

“Would you be able to come with me?” he asked.

“Of course”, I said unhesitatingly. 

Only slowly did I notice the too long pause that followed. I squinted up at him – damnation, I would have to put aside my vanity and get spectacles one of these days! – and waited for clarification.

“The case involves us travelling to Heligoland, in the German Ocean”, he said.

That was definitely a surprise. Though I assumed Cas had gone overseas back in ‘Eighty-Three (the missing passport), he had never tackled a case there to my knowledge. 

“What is it about?” I asked.

“I do not know as yet”, he admitted. “Balthazar wanted to check that I would be happy to go abroad before telling me all the details. He is already there, and telegraphed me his request.”

“Is it that serious?” I asked.

“Obviously he knew that I would not go without you”, Cas said firmly. 

He could not know how glad those few words made me. For the first time in weeks, I actually felt happy.

“I would be delighted to go”, I said. “A change would do me good.”

Of course the newspapers had reported the successful resolution of the case against me, but I knew that some who frequented the surgery had not seen it, and as I said, others just muttered about there being no smoke without fire. Yes, a change would do me the world of good, and since the attention span of the average London newspaper reader was about that of a gnat, things should be better upon my return.

 

+~+~+

I felt almost dizzy at the rapid sequence of events in my life, in that the very day after Cas suggested our trip, we were on a ship pulling into the little harbour on the main island of Heligoland. To those who know it not, the two islands are about four hours’ travel from the German coast, and had become a British possession when captured from Denmark during the Napoleonic Wars back at the start of the century, having been subsequently used to help break the attempted French blockade of our islands. I assumed that they were kept as a deterrent against any further French moves against northern Europe, although they had not really been fortified much, and with a now united Germany being increasingly militaristic, they were more an annoyance to both London and Berlin than anything else. 

I had also been unprepared for just how small even the main island was, a mile long and less than half a mile wide, and mostly flat. At least I would not be subject to any long or hilly walks!

Of course, there was a catch. A six-foot blond catch waiting for us at the hotel, namely Mr. Balthazar Novak. And rather oddly, he had someone with him, or at least someone he was keeping an eye on; a fair-haired blue-eyed young alpha of about sixteen years of age, apparently engrossed in a work of romantic fiction of some sort. Honestly, boys these days!

Cas chuckled at his brother’s evident discomfiture. 

“All right”, he smiled. “What have you done, Balthazar?”

His brother drew himself up and sniffed disdainfully.

“I have ‘done’ nothing”, he muttered, clearly not wishing to be overheard, even though we had met in an alcove in the hotel’s main reception room. “That dratted boy….”

He drew a deep breath before continuing.

“I came over from Wilhelmshaven the night before last, because the governor here is having a fit about these few pebbles becoming a major European incident”, he said, sounding almost angry. “And that little runt over there managed to secrete himself on board the ship somehow, and then told the hotel staff that he came over with me!”

“Who is he?” I asked.

II

“Peter Sonderburg”, Balthazar said, scratching his nose with a long finger. “Trust a Viking to manage to cross the seas at the wrong time!”

“Who is Peter Sonderburg?” I asked, thinking privately that the boy did indeed have something of the Viking about him.  
  
“The potential King of Denmark, just because the current one’s great-something-or-other-grandfather couldn’t keep it in his trousers!” our host moaned. “The Germans were cock-a-hoop over this beforehand; they’ll be unbearable now. And there’s not exactly any way we can smuggle him back; the brat knew full well what he was about.”

“The Germans will threaten to make a diplomatic incident once they 'discover' your kidnapping of the boy”, Cas smiled, “and will demand that Her Majesty’s Government support or at least remain neutral in their pushing the boy’s claim forward. Their newspapers already proclaim him 'King of Scandinavia.”

(I might explain at this point that the Danish royal dynasty, the Oldenburgs, had died out with King Frederick VII back in 'Sixty-Three. He had been succeeded by a distant cousin, Christian IX. Great Britain had a natural interest in the Baltic, and had been instrumental in securing the new king's succession (London Protocol of 'Fifty-Two), and his daughter Alexandra had married our own Prince of Wales, the future Edward VII, at the start of the eighties. Despite this, it was rumoured – correctly, I suspected – that the new king was far more pro-German than Great Britain would have liked, and that as such he might well be amenable to dealing with Berlin rather than London).

“They cannot honestly think that King Christian will just give up his throne like that!” I scoffed.

Balthazar looked about to say something rude to me in reply, but he caught his brother's warning look just in time. He visibly bit back his annoyance. I did not smirk.

Much.

“They hope to wring some concessions instead”, Cas explained, eyeing his brother as he spoke. “The island of Bornholm, for example, is small but strategically important. The Germans might offer to set the boy up in his own puppet kingdom there, and thereby control a key part of the Baltic in all but name.”

“I see”, I said. “So if the boy were to be found to have been kidnapped by a British government agent....”

“I did not kidnap the brat!” Balthazar hissed, clearly finding it an effort to keep his voice down. He was obviously not successful, for the boy in question looked up from his book and smiled across at the three of us. Cas looked thoughtfully at him, then nodded.

“This case will require some investigation”, he said firmly. “Here, and in Wilhelmshaven. Dean, I shall need you to do some work here whilst I take a short trip to the mainland tomorrow. I shall be back by the evening boat.”

“Of course”, I said, not at all smirking at Balthazar Novak's visible irritation at my inclusion in matters. 

Well, not much.

+~+~+

Our rooms (which, I noted with displeasure, were in different parts of the hotel; I owed Balthazar for that) were quite good, and after dinner that evening I adjourned to mine and waited for Cas to come and tell me what he wanted me to do the next day. It was warm for autumn, my bed was comfortable and I felt increasingly drowsy. Before I knew it, my book had slumped to the floor and my eyes had closed.

I awoke some time later to a start. One of the bell-boys was standing at the end of my bed, his burgundy uniform grating on my tired eyes. I was about to object to his being in my room when my vision finally fully returned, and I recognized Cas. 

In a tight-fitting costume.

I wondered yet again if he was indeed trying to kill me, before he began the slowest, sultriest striptease it had ever been my pleasure to watch. There was so much blood rushing to my nether regions that my brain must have been oxygen-deprived, and I could only stare in silent awe as he removed piece after piece, finishing by draping the burgundy waistcoat back over his chest and clambering slowly up onto the bed, looking as if he had not had sex for a month. Which was of course not true; he was reserved a cabin for the long journey over that same day, which he had put to very good use. At least I had been too out of it to feel sea-sick!

“I want you to go over the boy's room tomorrow”, he said, as he ran his hands up my legs, making me quiver like a heroine from one of those terrible melodramas. “List everything you find, and show me when I get back.”

“Uh huh”, I said incoherently. His hand was reaching..... oh my God!

He had got me so tensed up that even the tiniest touch on my balls was enough to set me off, and I fairly blew, arching my back off of the bed and just having enough nous left to pray that no-one was in any of the nearby rooms, otherwise there might well be complaints. And the damned bastard continue to fondle me, prolonging my orgasm until my cock was painfully tender and I sank back on the bed. Whereon he immediately raised my legs into the air and began to finger me open.

Surely not? Hell, I was thirty-five years old! I couldn't take this.....

“I want Balthazar to see you walking around tenderly tomorrow, and know that I was the cause”, he chuckled darkly. “Which means I have to do a very thorough job....”

And with that his finger jabbed at my prostate, and my eyes watered as my body tried to come a second time, my tender cock aching with the effort. He looked at me in concern, and seemed ready to pull back, so I managed to grab one of his wrists.

“Don't you dare!” I growled. “You bloody finish what you started, Mr. Castiel Novak!”

“As you wish!” he smirked, and I felt him pushing slowly but determinedly in. My groans turned to contented sighs, as he hit home and bent over to kiss me on the lips.

My last thought before I passed out was that Heaven would have to go some to beat this.

III

My soreness was definitely worth it the next day, I might add, because I got to see Mr. Balthazar Novak's disgusted look as I told him that I had had a very rough night, and felt achy in certain areas. He quickly changed the subject, and said he was taking the boy to the beach for the morning, so I could go over his room. I found very little of interest, except that the boy had a collection of the works of American author Mark Twain, which I thought unusual. I made a note to mention it to Cas; doubtless he would solve the whole case from it!

+~+~+

I should not have been so cynical. Cas' eyes lit up when I showed him the list of titles I had gathered.

“An unusual choice of literature”, he mused. “Mr. Twain is rumoured to be writing a story about an American being transported back in time to the court of King Arthur. Sometimes I wonder about the way his country exercises their beloved freedom of speech!”

“Did you find anything of interest in Wilhelmshaven?” I asked. 

“Indeed I did”, he said. “I went to Herr Bernard Rustringen's house.”

“Who?” I asked.

“One of Germany's most powerful spymasters, and a key player in the events surrounding 'the King of Scandinavia'”, Cas explained. “The kind thing to do would of course to go and find Balthazar, and put him out of his misery.”

He did not move.

“Or we could go upstairs for more sex?” I said hopefully.

“It is only half an hour before dinner”, he pointed out with a smile.

“We could run upstairs, then”, I said. “Come on!”

He chuckled, but still beat me to my room. For which I totally blamed my remaining soreness from the activities of the night before.

+~+~+

We were ten minutes late down to dinner, earning us a glare from Balthazar Novak. Peter Sonderburg was there with him, one of the Twain books next to him. At least he was not reading at the table.

We ordered our food, and once it had come, Cas began by turning to the boy.

“I have been mulling this over”, he said carefully, “and I have a question for you. Do you really wish to be king of anywhere?”

“No!” the boy said forcefully, “and I told your brother that! I can't help who my parents or my ancestors were; I wish they'd never done whatever the Hell they did to put me through all this rigmarole!”

“Then it is easily sorted”, Cas said, producing a smart brief-case from under the table (when had he put that there, I wondered?). He extracted a slim piece of paper and a pen, and placed both next to the boy's meal. “This is a Certificate of Revocation. By signing it in front of two witnesses – the doctor and myself should suffice – you formally waive all claim to the thrones of Scandinavia. It is short, to the point, and you should read it before signing, of course. I managed to find a German lawyer who drew it up in both German and English for me; I know you can read both languages.”

“Of course”, the boy said, transferring the paper to his left to scan it more thoroughly, before neatly signing his name at the bottom of both parts. Cas added his and I mine, then my friend folded the paper and placed it back in the brief-case. He seemed to move to summon a waiter, but then apparently changed his mind, and we resumed our interrupted meal.

We had almost finished when one of the bell-boys walked into the middle of the room and called out, “Telegram for Mr. Jacob Hannover”. The boy started for some reason, and I wondered why.

IV

“Should you not answer your telegram, Jacob?” Cas asked politely.

“What?” I said, confused.

“What?” Balthazar Novak echoed.

“Gentlemen, allow me to present Master Jacob Hannover, son of one of the richest merchants in Wilhelmshaven”, Cas said airily, as if he was not turning our world on its head. “In some aspects just a regular German schoolboy, distinguished by only two things; his close friendship with a certain Master Peter Sonderburg, who attends the same school as he does, and a striking physical similarity to the same.”

His brother stared the the boy in shock, who after blushing looked defiantly back at him.

“Who is Jacob?” he demanded.

“You”, Cas said. “You gave yourself away more than once, you know. The real Peter Sonderburg is right-handed, yet you signed that paper with your left hand. And the faint mark on the rim of your collar is from the dye you use to keep your mousy brown hair blond, like that of your friend. Of course you were prepared to sign this document, as you were not the real 'King of Scandinavia'.”

“You still kidnapped me!” the boy pointed out. “And when my people find out....”

“Jacob”, Cas said, and his voice was suddenly menacing, “believe me when I tell you that I can guarantee that they will never find out.”

The boy looked back at him, alarmed. Cas was fixing him with that focussed glare of his, that spelt doom for those on the receiving end of it. Except for me, for whom it meant.....

Not the time! So not the time!

“You are young”, Cas said, “but the world is a dangerous place, Jacob, and sometimes the follies of youth can be costly. Doubtless you and Peter thought this a great joke, especially when the opportunity arose so soon after reading a certain book.”

“What book?” I asked. Cas picked up the novel next to the boy's meal.

“Mr. Mark Twain's 'The Prince And The Pauper'”, Cas explained. “It tells how a beggar boy and King Edward VI of England swapped roles for a time, and all the chaos that ensued. Young Peter was already in the thrall of Herr Rustringen, who knew that the arrival of a principal English spy in the port was an excellent opportunity to cause embarrassment to London and help his fatherland. The outside world could be made to think that the British had attempted to kidnap the boy, and the Germans would demand that their adversaries accede to their plans for 'the King of Scandinavia'.”

“It's still kidnapping”, the boy said weakly.

“Only if they find the body”, Cas said lightly, cutting up a sausage.

Peter – Jacob - looked round anxiously, and Cas sighed. 

“Boy, the staff here are all in Balthazar's pay”, he said calmly. “You yourself said that you sneaked onto the island undetected.”

“I sent Pete a telegram earlier”, the boy said defiantly.

“Anyone can send a telegram”, Cas said. “No, if you do choose to make a fuss here, or tell anyone about your time here – well, the seas around these islands are wide and open. A very big place in which to dispose of a body.”

The boy had gone even paler.

“However, if you return to Wilhelmshaven and pass the whole thing off as a joke”, Cas said thoughtfully, “then perhaps all will be well. Though of course, should a different story somehow emerge in the future – well, there are some people in the world who have to live their lives in the knowledge that someone is determined to kill them, and that the person hunting them down only has to be lucky once.”

“You would kill me?” the boy quavered.

“Not just you”, Balthazar Novak added sharply.

The boy looked as if he was going to faint.

“Death comes to us all”, the lounge-lizard said softly, “but some people tend to draw His attention not just to themselves, but to those around them. As I am sure you and your German spymaster are aware, the British have agents across your country, many of whom are keeping their heads down. One oddly-worded telegram to one of them, and I can guarantee that not only would you be dead within twenty-four hours, but all your nearest and dearest too.”

“You would kill my family?” the boy gasped. “That's evil!”

“No”, Cas said, spearing his last piece of sausage and frowning. “That's politics. Why is there no bacon?”

+~+~+

Peter/Jacob was dispatched back to mainland Germany the next day, and from the failure of the story to emerge into the light of day, I assume that fear of the consequences kept him silent, probably much to Berlin's annoyance. I came down to breakfast late, feeling shattered – Cas always seemed to gain extra energy after successfully completing a case, and he had more than worked that energy out on me – to find the blue-eyed genius alone at breakfast.

“No Balthazar?” I grunted, quietly pleased.

“He has returned on the morning boat back to Wilhelmshaven, for some business he has in France”, Cas explained, forking what looked like half a pig's worth of bacon onto his plate. Honestly, the man was such a grub at times. I did not know why I put up with him.

I moved a little too fast towards the table, and felt a stinging ache in my backside. Oh yes. That was one reason. Quite a good one, really.

“The boat back to England sails when?” I asked.

“It has gone”, he said. When I looked surprised, he continued, “Balthazar has two problems at the same time – such is the life of a government fixer - and asked if we would look into the one in the Netherlands. So I thought that we might sail to Wilhelmshaven on the afternoon boat, spend the night there, and travel on round the coast tomorrow.”

“Not another errant schoolboy, I hope”, I said, forking half of my own bacon onto my friend's plate. He beamed at me.

“No”, he said. “Royalty.”

What?

+~+~+

In our next case, religion plays a major part, not for the last time in what was rapidly becoming our Grand Continental Adventure.....


	3. Case 38: Bloody Mary (1887)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously unpublished, mentioned elsewhere as ‘the case involving the Dutch royal family’.

I

It seemed hard to believe that it was barely a week ago that I was being threatened with complete ruination at the hands of that vile Jezebel Mrs. Aston, and now Cas and I were standing on a cold railway platform in northern Germany (I bit back the thought that I had essentially fled the country, as it was a little too close to the truth). Yet I had the man I loved, and Cas had actually held my hand during the ferry crossing.

God, I was turning onto such a sap!

Wilhelmshaven Station was generally unimpressive, being at the end of a single branch line from our first destination, the town of Oldenburg. It was also fairly exposed, a biting wind blowing in from the German Ocean. I shivered, despite the thick woollen coat that Cas had bought for me last Christmas.  
   
“I’m sure I can find a way to warm you up later!” he muttered from close beside me.  
   
Of course that took my mind off the cold quite well! The platform was almost deserted, so I took the opportunity to move into him; the man seemed able to generate heat like a furnace. 

Yes, I was a sap. So what?  
   
+~+~+  
   
Our second train, an irritatingly slow one to Groningen, took us across the border, and the Dutch border guards eyed us suspiciously before returning our passports. It was late when we reached the northern Dutch town, and I was grateful that Cas had checked us into the station hotel, so I did not have far to totter before collapsing face-down onto a surprisingly comfortable bed. I heard a chuckle from behind me, but frankly I did not care.

Then I felt him turning me over, and he started to remove my clothes. Suddenly I was not that tired any more.

“You are insatiable!” he smiled, running his long hand over an erection that was already straining to escape my underpants. “I presume you are too tired, so I will just turn in for the night and....”

I grabbed his wrist forcefully.

“Don't. You. Dare!” I ground out. 

He whipped my underwear off quickly – I had had more than one pair ruined by his eagerness, not that I ever complained – and before I could say any more, was doing that weird thing where he fondled my erection with one hand whilst tickling me just under my balls with the other. As a doctor I should have had a superior knowledge of the human body, but he knew just what to do to make me come like it was my last night on the planet. My head actually hurt as my body shook with my orgasm, before I sank back onto the bed, shattered. I was dimly aware of him wiping me off, and the next thing I knew, he was naked and beside me. I would have reached over to hold him, but I had nothing left for now.

“Not bad for someone who is nearly thirty-six years old”, he whispered.

“That's over two months away”, I protested weakly. I did not want to think that my next birthday was a mere four years from a certain milestone I was very eager not to pass. Though as my totally unsympathetic brother had said in a recent telegram, it was better than the alternative of not passing it.

I could not know, as I lay there in that plush hotel suite with my true soulmate beside me, that when I did reach forty, he would be lost to me. 

+~+~+

The next day, we returned to the station and took a much faster train south to Amsterdam, the journey being just over five hours long. The countryside was almost eerily flat, I noticed, reminding me a little of our time on the Isle of Uffa and the case of the Hereward Dagger. I wondered how the two young alphas, whose love for each other had sparked that case, were faring now. Hopefully as well as Cas and I.

There was even a dining-car on the train, and the food was actually not that bad; I had experienced railway fare on but a few occasions, and had come to the conclusion that it was best appreciated on even fewer occasions! Cas explained that our contact in the Dutch capital wished to meet us as soon as possible, so having lunch just before we arrived would save us some time. 

I was surprised when, upon reaching our hotel in Amsterdam, we were met by someone whom Cas explained was basically Balthazar’s counterpart for the Dutch government. Surprised that is because the man was an omega, called Martin van Tromp. He could not have looked less like the famous admiral whose name he bore if he had tried.  
   
“You would be surprised to discover just how prevalent omegas are in the espionage fraternity, doctor”, he smiled, clearly spotting my ill-concealed reaction. “Amongst those nations progressive enough to take advantage of the fact that is; our rivals think that our hormone-driven gender could never cope with the stresses and strains of such a job, which of course gives us a significant advantage.”  
   
Cas, the bastard, smiled at my evident discomfiture.  
   
“Let us adjourn to the comfort of my room here”, our host said, “and I can explain why my country needs your help, gentlemen.”  
   
All right, his inclusion of me in the invitation did make me feel just a bit better.

II

“You may be aware”, our host began, “that a few months ago our king, William the Third, was declared mentally incapable. A regency council is now ruling for his sole surviving child, his daughter Wilhelmina.”  
  
“He is the Third because the Dutch reset their monarchical numbers when they became a monarchy, after the Napoleonic Wars”, Cas explained, proving himself as psychic as ever. I just accepted it by this time; I had indeed been wondering why the Dutch had had a second third William – look, I knew what I meant! - after the one they had grudgingly shared with us some two centuries back.  
  
“I have to say that it had not been a happy reign”, our host sighed. “He has mishandled Luxembourg of which he is also king, upset the Belgians, crossed parliament, and offended you British despite your support against the rising threat of Germany. His second marriage, to a woman over four decades his junior, scandalized many, although it has turned out better than we hoped, and certainly less turbulent than his first. And the number of bastards he has fathered over the years – well, even only counting those he owns up to, it is well into the thirties.”  
  
I raised an eyebrow at that. Even my country’s most prolific monarch in that department, Henry the First, had only made it into the twenties.  
  
“It is one of those that is the problem, I suppose?” Cas asked, sipping at a coffee that he had purloined from somewhere. I stared in annoyance; I was sure we had asked for three teas. Even though his face remained impassive, I somehow knew that he was smirking inside. 

Maybe I was psychic, too.  
  
“Yes”, Mr. van Tromp said with a sigh. “One Mary King – she changed her name, of course; she was born Mary Barton. She was in court the other week when she made the claim privately through her lawyer. Regrettably it rather looks as if she may have been telling the truth.”  
  
“What crime did she stand accused of?” I asked.  
  
“Murder!”  
  
+~+~+  
  
I coughed into my tea, spluttering it everywhere with my usual inelegance. Cas, of course, remained unperturbed.  
  
“So it would doubly be in her interests to claim such a thing”, he mused, “not just for her own benefit, but to save her own neck. I presume that you have made your own inquiries?”  
  
Our host nodded.  
  
“We have”, he said glumly, “and it does not look good. The girl is twenty-two, and around the time of her conception, her mother, an American actress called Maria Barton who was visiting the Netherlands, was indeed one of the king's ladies. One of many, of course, but definitely the then favourite. Indeed, we have testimony that she was secretly smuggled into the palace on at least one occasion, because a journalist spotted her.”  
  
“Most disturbing”, Cas said. “And little wonder than my dear brother left this to me; over two decades makes this an extremely cold case.”  
  
Our host’s face fell.  
  
“But it is therefore more of a challenge”, Cas said cheerily. “Let us have all the information you have on the lady and her ancestry, and we shall see what we shall see.”  
  
+~+~+  
  
“I wonder how the mother feels about this?” I mused as we sat in our comfortably warm rooms that evening, perusing the Dutch government’s copious files on Miss King. “At least they have been thorough. Everything up to and including the mole on her left shoulder!”  
  
Cas chuckled.  
  
“As you yourself have seen”, he said, “sometimes even the smallest detail can attain an importance far beyond its apparent merit. I wonder….”  
  
He was holding a picture from a court ball. I always wondered at those; did the photographer actually ask people to look mildly constipated? Cas was looking at this and what were presumably the other available photographs of Miss King.  
  
“Pass me the file on the lady's family, Dean”, he said, still looking hard at the ball photograph.  
  
I did so, and he checked something before once more looking hard at the photograph. Then he smiled.  
  
“We may have a lead”, he said. “But I shall have to send a telegram, and I am not sure the person who receives it will want to help or not. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”  
  
I smiled at the old saying, and started to clear up the mess as he pulled his coat on.  
  
“And Dean?” he said.  
  
I froze. I knew that Voice.  
  
“I shall be less than ten minutes”, he growled. “Be ready when I come back!”  
  
“Yes, Cas!” I said, in what was definitely not a girly squeak. Well, not completely.

God, I was so whipped!  
  
+~+~+

I collapsed onto the bed, utterly exhausted. No man in his early to mid-thirties could be expected to have three consecutive orgasms and not need a rest afterwards. Preferably a long one.

I felt rather than saw him getting onto the bed next to me, and he began to fondle my now sensitive cock again. Incredibly the thing began to harden, and my eyes watered.

“Fourth time's the charm”, he muttered.

I wondered if he would remember to bring my body home after he'd killed me through sex. Then he did that thing with my balls, and what little coherent thought remained to me died a death, along with what remained of my manliness. And frankly, I was long past caring!

III

Mr. van Tromp met us the following day at breakfast, where I sat down rather more carefully than usual. There had been no reply to Cas’ telegram, and I still quietly wondered at the modern technology which could get a message to the other side of the world in seconds. Next thing we knew there would be words and pictures as well, and all hope of privacy would be gone!  
  
“The prosecutor in the case is definitely pushing for murder”, our host said with a sigh. “I had wondered if he would so do – there was apparently a small degree of provocation in the matter – but he is determined to make his name with this case.”

“Tell us about the case”, Cas asked.

“She stands accused of murdering a Mr. Leewarden”, Mr. van Tromp explained. “He was an alpha, something of a ladies' man by all accounts, and it had been thought at one point that the two of them might marry. But there was an argument over his having seen another lady, and she shot him. In front of two witnesses, so there is no doubting it. She went into another room to fetch the gun, which of course shows premeditation, though her lawyer is arguing that it was all done in a moment of anger. He is also saying that she is not quite twenty-one and therefore not an adult, although in this country murder is murder at eighteen.”

“When did Miss King know of her potential royal ancestry?” Cas asked.

“We do not know”, the omega said. “Her aunt, a Mrs. Smith, arrived a short while back for a visit from the United States, and possibly told her then.” His eyes widened. “You are not suggesting that that was what led her to....”

"Has the aunt returned home yet?" Cas asked urgently.

"No, she is staying to support her niece during the trial."

“I rather think that in this case, the aunt is of supreme importance”, Cas said firmly. “We must endeavour to call on her as soon as possible, since she may render my telegram unimportant. Where is she staying?”

“In this very hotel”, Mr. van Tromp said, clearly surprised by the direction of my friend's questions. “Room 201.”

“We shall send up a card at once”, Cas said, “and see if she will permit a visit.”

+~+~+

Mrs. Amelia Smith received us some hours later. She was a lady in her early fifties, though still beautiful. And definitely on edge; she stared at Cas with a most definite air of anxiety.

“Be assured that the doctor keeps notes only for my own records”, he told her. “No case is ever published if it affects the innocent, madam.”

There was a definite meaning behind those words, and the lady relaxed visibly.

“How much do you know?” she asked.

“I rather think that I know all”, Cas said with a smile. “Or nearly all. I have but a few questions. First, were you a willing party to this charade?”

She nodded.

“Our father died when we were still young”, she explained, “and my mother raised us with help from her relatives. I was fortunate to meet John – my husband – shortly after I came of age, and when my mother died soon afterwards, she asked me to make sure that dear Maria was taken care of. John brought us to Europe on one of his business trips, and.....”

I winced. I frankly thought it distasteful that society would look the other way whilst a powerful man took another man's wife to his mistress, even if the former was a king. If anyone even thought of laying a finger on my Cas....

Damnation, he was looking at me again! He was psychic! I blushed fiercely, especially when I saw the slightest of smiles creasing his features.

“My husband is out on business”, the lady said stoutly. “Does he need to be informed?”

“That rather depends on Miss King”, Cas said mysteriously. “I somehow fear that she may not be amenable to keeping things quiet, unless her life is spared. Even her own family would probably take second place to saving her own neck.”

I gulped. I had suddenly got it. Cas stood up swiftly.

“We shall depart for the moment”, he said. “I shall keep you informed of developments by private letter, madam, I promise.”

“Thank you”, she smiled.

IV

I was still digesting what had happened when Cas took me to Mr. van Tromp's room, and asked that we be taken to see Miss King at once. I have to say that the potential princess did not impress me much. I know royalty cannot always be beautiful, but there was a sulky air of consequence about her which would have marred much more attractive features than hers. Cas sat opposite her and placed a copy of the court photograph in front of her and her lawyer, a beta whom I immediately liked even less.  
  
“What is this?” the lawyer demanded.  
  
“Proof that your client is about as royal as I myself”, Cas said firmly.  
  
“A photograph!” Miss King scoffed. “What does that show?”  
  
Cas fixed her with one of his looks, and she visibly quailed.  
  
“Your lawyer is fully entitled to have this particular photograph investigated”, he said calmly, “but he will find that there has been no tampering with it. The original was published in a newspaper at the time, a copy of which is available in the town library. I would draw your attention to the charming lady to the immediate right of the king.”  
  
“My mother”, the girl said.  
  
“Your aunt”, Cas said.  
  
“You lie!” she hissed, though I noticed that she had gone slightly red.  
  
“There are four other photographs of your mother”, Cas said quietly, “and you will note that in each she was holding something in her left hand. Hardly surprising, as she is left-handed. But the lady standing next to the king in the court photograph, a photograph that can be dated to within days of your conception, is holding her bag on her right arm.”  
  
“So?” the lawyer said archly. “People’s arms do get tired, sir.”  
  
“Maybe”, Cas said, “but that set me investigating your family, Miss King, and I noticed a further inconsistency. Now, your lawyer will need a magnifying glass like the one I used, but I would draw your attention to the ring-finger of the lady in the picture. We can obtain an enlargement of the area if you so wish, but it will show the same thing, namely that the lady clearly has a distinct mark where a wedding-ring has been removed. Your mother would have had no such mark at that time – but your aunt would have done!”

She stared angrily at him, and I wondered if she was going to try to strike him.

“Let us therefore reconstruct what actually happened around the time of your conception”, Cas said calmly. "Your mother Maria and her sister Amelia both caught the eye of the king, even though the latter was already married. Your mother was the initial favourite, but we know that the king did not keep any particular lover for long, and he soon moved onto your aunt. Rejected, your mother decided to travel home.”  
  
“I do not know what it was, but some indiscretion on your mother’s part – possibly the same one whose consequences would soon resurface - meant that it would have been difficult for her to leave the country at that time. She was very clever, taking advantage of the fact that she and her sister were physically very similar, despite the three-year age difference. She and your aunt swapped identities, and your mother left the country on your aunt’s passport. The king meanwhile continued his relationship with your aunt, losing interest after a few months. Meanwhile, on travelling back to the United States, your mother discovered that she was pregnant – with you!”

She shuddered.

“I am sorry to say that your mother did not know who the father was”, Cas said, “but she saw an excellent opportunity, and persuaded her sister to help her. You would be raised as a 'royal baby', and then once you were of a suitable age, pressure could be applied to the Dutch government to buy your silence. It was only your foolhardy killing of Mr. Leewarden that frustrated your plans, and forced you to declare your hand not to get money, but to save your life.”

She broke down in tears, but Cas was unmoved.

“Now”, he said firmly, “we have to deal.”

She looked up at him, hope in her eyes.

“I frankly consider you the lowest of the low”, he told her acidly, “but needs must. Your pushing this story will have two most unpleasant effects. Firstly, your mother will be disgraced – I might add that her behaviour thus far does not overly concern me on that – but more importantly, your aunt will be ashamed, and possibly her husband's business will be damaged if not ruined. Secondly, you are a United States citizen, and that country, like my own, protects its people regardless.”

He stood up and went to the door. Opening it, he admitted a sharply-dressed young blond alpha.

“This is Mr. Kent Freeman”, he said, “from the United States Embassy. He will be escorting you back to your homeland – but do not think you are evading paying for your crimes, my lady. The price of your extradition is that President Hayes will write a formal letter guaranteeing the Dutch that you will spend the rest of your natural life behind bars.”

“No!” she protested.

“I should also add that, like the majority of his countrymen, Mr. Freeman is armed”, Cas said sharply. “Should you be foolish enough to attempt to escape at any point in the journey, he is instructed to shoot you dead. In light of what you did, perhaps that would be for the best. Come, Dean!”

He swept from the room and I scurried after him, leaving a crying woman behind him.

+~+~+

“Doubtless you think me foolish for having done such a thing”, he said later that evening, as we sat in my room. “But I had to consider not just the diplomatic side of things, but poor Mrs. Smith. She did what she could for her sister, and her niece took full advantage of the fact.”

He looked so depressed that I truly felt for him. I got up and walked over to kneel before him, and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. He looked at me in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Let me show you just how much I appreciate what you did”, I said, slipping his waistcoat off and starting on his blue shirt. “You once said that justice and the law were two different things, and you always followed the former. I want to show you just how much I understand that now.”

He shuddered as I slipped his shirt off, and started on his trousers. He sank back onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge, and I slowly undressed him, marvelling at his perfect body, kissing him all over until I was done. Then I took a step back, and more quickly removed my own clothes, before lying naked on the bed beside him. He sat up again to look at me.

“Oh my God!”

I smiled at his shock, as I continued preparing myself for him, and he quickly joined me, our fingers working me open until I was ready. He lined up with me, still looking half-dazed, but once he was inside his animal instincts took over, and he began to pound into me with gusto, whilst I anchored my legs back and just enjoyed the ride. I tried to hold my cock to prevent myself from coming too soon, but to little avail, and it was a noise worthy of a mating walrus that echoed around my room. Thank the Lord that it was still fairly early, and that most people would not have come up from dinner yet.

He snuggled closer to me, still inside me, and I wrapped my arms around him. I knew that even the great Mr. Castiel Novak was uncertain sometimes, and this was my job. To be the perfect mate, there for him whenever he needed me. And if that rendered me almost unable to walk the following day – well, that was a price that I was fully (and boy, was I full!) prepared to pay.

+~+~+

Next time, Death dies a death.


	4. Case 39: Death Takes A Holiday (1887)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor'.

I

I do not know why, but for some reason I took a dislike to Amsterdam. Cas, of course, sensed it immediately and suggested that we leave the next day, though to where he would not say. No matter how much I pouted!

Of course, I could not catch a break. I came down to breakfast on the morning of our departure – I had declined the offer of taking breakfast in bed after The Infamous Bacon Incident, which would never be spoken of even in private – to find someone with Cas at the table. Mr. Gabriel Novak.

I uttered something decidedly Anglo-Saxon before pasting a fake smile on my face and joining them. Gabriel Novak greeted me briefly before shaking hands with his brother and hurrying away. I stared after him, feeling uneasy.

“Gabe is concerned about me”, Cas said, in between stuffing himself with his and half of my bacon. 

I had a bad feeling that I knew where this conversation was leading.

“I suppose he wants you to back in England”, I said sourly. “Well, it was a good run whilst it lasted.”

He was looking at me as if I were mad. I stared back at him, confused.

“What?” I asked.

“I made it quite clear I was on holiday”, he said firmly. “Gabriel wanted to check up on me for Mother, who... well, she is Mother.”

I swallowed, feeling guilty at having so wrongly judged him.

“Having to traipse round the Continent with you, or back home to my wonderful patients”, I said, seeming to weigh the two up. “That's a hard one!”

I felt his foot brush against mine under the table, and he leaned across to me.

“I hope it stays a hard one!” he whispered.

Bastard!

+~+~+

I stared incredulously at the station name-board, until Cas nudged me to move away from the train before it started off again. 

“You brought me here!” I said, trying to pull myself together. My friend smiled.

“You said how much you wanted to come here”, he said. “And I thought, why not? We have four days in the Grand Hotel, plenty of time to visit the spa and do some sight-seeing.”

We had journeyed back into the German Empire, visiting the ancient cathedral in Cologne and, to my joy, the cathedral at Worms, made famous by Martin Luther. And now here, the town I had always wanted to visit but could never have afforded to! My wonderful friend must have been keeping a secret record of all the places I had ever expressed a wish to see, which was why we were now close to the French border in the delightful spa town of Baden-Baden. In all honesty I could have kissed him.

“Later!” he growled, reading my mind as usual. “Down, boy!”

Damnation, could he smell it on me or something?

+~+~+

Of course, when good things did happen to me, I knew Fate had something bad in store ready and waiting, to balance the books. We were checking into the hotel – the main English-speaking one in the town, Cas had assured me – when the concierge looked at our names in the register with something approaching awe. She was an elderly lady, her grey hair curled tightly into a bun, but she looked as if all her Christmases had come at once.

“Excuse me, sir”, she said to Cas, “but if that is Doctor Winchester, are you 'the' Mr. Castiel Novak?”

I sensed trouble, but my friend only smiled.

“It is a rare name”, he said, “and if you mean 'am I the Mr. Castiel Novak who is also a consulting detective', then yes I am.”

“Could you please wait here just a moment?” she said, almost running into a back room before either of us could answer.

“You seem to have already acquired a fan club”, I observed. He smiled back at me.

“Hopefully nothing that will disturb our holiday”, he said. 

That hope, it soon turned out, was not to be realized.

+~+~+

The concierge returned, and asked us if we could spare a few minutes to talk with the hotel manager, to which we agreed. Mr. Ivan Coburg was, I thought, rather young for such a position; an alpha in his early thirties, he had thinning blond hair through which he kept running his hand. He bade us both take a seat.

“I am sorry for troubling you gentlemen on what must be a holiday”, he said apologetically, “but your arrival here is providential. The day before yesterday one of our guests died in somewhat mysterious circumstances, and the local police are being very heavy-handed about the whole thing. I do not like to ask, but....”

“Tell us about it”, Cas prompted.

The manager seemed to relax a little at the invitation. 

“The dead man is Mr. Nigel Horton, valet to Lord De'Ath, who is staying here”, he said. “It is all really rather bizarre; it appears he committed suicide, but..... well, our resident doctor thought it a little strange.”

Death takes a holiday, I thought. And there is a death.

“Why?” I asked. 

“I am sorry”, he said, twisting his hands nervously. “I was only appointed last month when the previous manager was found to be defrauding the company, and several people said I was not experienced enough. I ran a small hotel on the Swiss border beforehand, you see. This is all... a bit much.”

He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. I noted that the whisky decanter on the side-table was half-empty.

“Lord De'Ath and his valet arrived here two days ago”, he said. “If you were to take an interest in the case, Mr. Novak, I am sure he would be willing to speak with you. The experience has come as a shock to him as well, of course.”

“Of course”, Cas echoed.

“His Lordship took the Royal Suite, our best one, and decided to use the hotel's private pool that same night”, he went on. “Naturally his valet accompanied him. They had checked in at just after seven that evening.....”

“Did you have prior notice of their arrival?” Cas interrupted.

“Yes. A telegram sent the day before from Basel.”

“I see. Pray continue.”

“They entered the pool room at just before eight”, the manager continued. “Technically we close it at that time, but we try to be flexible for our guests. There was one man, Paul, on duty, but he did not speak to either of them. He was 'on call' if they needed anything, which apparently they did not; the valet said his master wished to read quietly and perhaps swim later. Paul remained in his room until a quarter to ten, when he was alerted by Lord De'Ath knocking at his door, telling him that his valet had collapsed whilst walking along the edge of the pool and had fallen in. He had tried to get him out, but the man was too heavy for him to lift fully. Paul did help him drag the man out, but he had apparently drowned.”

“Apparently?” I asked.

II

The manager nodded.

“Our doctor did a quick check post mortem, and found a small puncture wound in the arm”, he said. “Lord De'Ath, very reluctantly I might add, admitted that his valet had recently started to partake of the evil opium, and several additional marks seemed to back this up.”

Cas nodded, and looked expectantly at the manager.

“I think that is all, sir”, the man said. “Do you think you could take an interest in the case?”

“Only if you tell me everything, Mr. Coburg”, Cas said.

“But sir....”

“No, you have left something out.”

“I assure you, I have not.”

“What else did the doctor say?” Cas pressed.

The manager looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared.

“Oh, that”, he said dismissively. “But that was nothing.”

“He commented on the stiffness of the limbs, did he not?”

The manager stared at Cas in amazement.

“How could you know that?” he almost shrieked.

“It is my business to know things, sir”, my friend said crisply. “Indeed, I am fairly sure I know exactly how this death occurred. I will however need to do a few things before I can be certain.”

The manager was looking at him like he was the Second Coming.

“Name them!” he said.

“I need to dispatch a telegram to my policeman friend in London, urgently”, Cas said. “And after the doctor and I see the body of the dead man, I think it only fair that I have a talk with the guest currently occupying your Royal Suite.”

+~+~+

The late Mr. Nigel Horton had been about fifty years of age at his demise, and in good physical condition for a man of his age. The local doctor had been right about the number of pinpricks on his arm, although he seemed to have applied some sort of unguent in an attempt to hide them, and from his physical shape, his use of the evil drug must have started only recently. 

“Though the unguent seems odd”, I remarked as I finished up.

“How so?” Cas asked.

“I would not have thought a valet would normally go about bare-sleeved”, I said. “His uniform would cover them at all times. Unless he was afraid the other servants would see them.”

“An interesting point”, Cas said, and I just knew that there was something to what I had said. Though what it was eluded me, as ever. 

“He was very well-kempt”, I observed. 

“Many people judge the nobility on how their servants turn out”, Cas said. “A poorly-presented servant usually means a bad master. Is there anything else?”

I was about to say no when I spotted it. I had thought it to be just a birthmark, but a second look convinced me otherwise. It was a tattoo transfer by the look of it, and quite recently applied judging from the look of it. 

“A six or a nine”, I said. “Odd. From the skin condition, I would say it was done very recently. Possibly even after death, though I cannot see why anyone would do that.”

Cas shook his head.

“The sign of infinity”, he said, “an eight on its side. Used by some criminal groups to mark either members or victims. This case grows darker, my friend. Let us go and wait on our fellow Englishman.”

+~+~+

I did not quite know what to expect of Lord Gereint De'Ath, but whatever it had been, he was not it. He was an alpha in his late forties, wearing an ill-fitting dressing-gown and with badly-dyed black hair. He even wore those strange tinted glasses which were meant to be beneficial for certain sight conditions. I knew the English nobility was famed for being eccentric, but this was pushing it.

I expected Cas to get straight down to questioning him, so of course he surprised me.

“What a wonderful walking-stick!” he exclaimed, carefully examining a silver-topped stick propped up against the table. “Though surely a little impractical?”

“How so, sir?” the nobleman asked, clearly as surprised as I was.

“Silver is a soft metal”, Cas explained, “hardly suitable for the knocks and scrape such an item must get in its daily wear. And this is the finest silver, judging from the Birmingham hallmark. Still, we must get down to the tragic business of your valet, sir.”

The man looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Yes”, he said, with visible reluctance. “I am afraid that this may be at least partly my fault.”

“In what way?” Cas asked.

He sat back.

“Three years ago, I had to put the family home, Kesteven Hall, up for auction”, he began.

Cas exclaimed in surprise.

“I knew I had seen the name somewhere!” he said. “The De'Aths, descendants of the Burghleys! Your house is in Rutlandshire.”

The man looked visibly astonished.

“Sir?”

Cas turned to me.

“Whilst I was at Cambridge, I had a small case for a family who lived in Uppingham”, he explained. “Elizabethan history always fascinated me, so I took the chance to cross into Northamptonshire and see Burghley House, home to Queen Elizabeth I's chief minister. They told me how he had a major falling out with his second son and threatened to disinherit him, only for James Cecil to buy a plot of land directly opposite his father's house and build what became Kesteven House there. And because it was in the county of Rutland which was protected by some old Saxon laws, his father could not touch him.”

He turned back to the nobleman.

“So you must be a Cecil, then?”

The man nodded.

“Only by female descent”, he said. “What with taxes and everything, times have been very hard. I sold the old place, and used the money to set myself up very comfortably in London. I didn't want any of the servants from the Hall – too many reminders of the past, you see – so I advertised for a valet. I got through three other men before I found Nigel, who was wonderful at his job. He did everything around the house, including cooking and cleaning.”

“How did you come to get him?” Cas asked.

“Withers - Old Lord Withermore, he's passed now – recommended him”, the nobleman said. “I had had him for just over a year, and everything was fine. Until this trip.”

“What happened?” Cas asked.

The nobleman hesitated.

“I originally planned to visit just the South of France”, he said, “and Nigel was quite all right with that. Then a friend said he could put me up at a Swiss hotel he had a share in, and I could take in this town, which quite appealed to me. But when I told Nigel we were going through Germany on the way home, he went quite pale. He assured me it was nothing, but he was on edge all the time from then on, and got worse once we'd crossed the border.”

“Do you know if he had any German connections?” Cas asked. 

“I believe there was some German blood in his family, but he did not talk about his past”, he said. “Given the current somewhat parlous state of Anglo-German relations, I could understand his reluctance to discuss the matter.”

“Please tell us what happened last night”, Cas said gently.

III

“We got here around seven, and signed the book”, the nobleman said, frowning as he remembered. “Nigel was tense all the way from the station, so I decided that once we had got to our rooms, I would give him some time to himself and explore the hotel pool.”

“You were very attached to him”, Cas observed.

“What makes you say that?”

“Few men refer to their valets by their first names”, Cas observed. “Did you know he took opium?”

The nobleman frowned.

“I knew he indulged occasionally”, he admitted, “but there are worse vices, Mr. Novak. Anyway, he insisted on accompanying me to the pool, and I had not the heart to refuse him.”

Cas thought for some little time before his next question.

“Did you leave him alone in your room between arriving and going to the pool?” he asked.

“Of course”, the nobleman said. “He had to go to his own room and leave his things there. But he was not gone long, no more than one minute.”

I noted the defensive tone in his voice.

“What happened in the pool?” Cas said.

“I sat by the pool and read my book”, the nobleman said, “and Nigel read his. He was quite learned for a servant, Mr. Novak, and was working his way through the Greek tragedies. After about an hour or so I decided to swim a few lengths. Then I rested, then swam some more. I think Nigel must have gone and told the attendant I wasn't to be disturbed at some point, because he did not come over at all.”

He hesitated before continuing.

“I don't know what the time was when it happened, but I was swimming at the far end of the pool when I heard a sudden splash. I assumed that Nigel had slipped and fallen in, so I stood up – it was the shallow end, fortunately – and waited for him to resurface. When he did not, I got out and ran round to where he lay just floating, and managed to turn him on his back before dragging him to the side. There were some steps leading down into the pool, and I was able to drag him clear before going to fetch the pool man to come and help me. We pulled him out, but it was too late.”

Cas nodded, and produced a notebook from his pocket.

“Does this symbol mean anything to you?” he asked, showing the nobleman the infinity sign we had seen on the dead man's body.

I was not expecting a reaction, so was more than a little surprised when the nobleman leaped clean out of his chair.

“Where did you find that?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“I think there is something you neglected to tell us”, Cas said gently.

Lord De'Ath sighed.

“They took his body back to his room afterwards”, he said, clearly reluctantly. “The local doctor was examining him when I saw someone had written that sign on a sheet of paper on his bedside table. And now I remember it, Nigel was more nervous when he came back from his room earlier. What does it mean?”

“It may be the symbol of a criminal group that is responsible for the man's death”, Cas said. “I have wired to London for certain information, and once that arrives, I should be able to reach a conclusion. What are your plans, my lord?”

The nobleman hesitated.

“I really do not wish to stay here”, he admitted, “but the local police have 'recommended' that I do not leave, so I suppose I shall have to remain. For a few days, at least.”

“Then let us hope we can clear things up for you”, Cas smiled, “and speed you on your way.”

+~+~+

We were assigned the Helvetia Suite, which I later learned was the second-best the hotel had to offer. It was far more than I could ever have afforded, but since Cas was doing the hotel a favour by looking into their case, I supposed that it was fair enough. It was one large room with three bedrooms off it.

“I thought you had the case wrapped up?” I asked curiously, as we got ready for bed.

Cas yawned.

“I have a distinct feeling that the local police will want more in the way of evidence than 'Mr. Novak thinks'”, he said. “Hopefully though, if Henriksen can provide me with what I asked for, then that should be sufficient.”

“What did you ask for?” I asked, slipping under my covers.

“The criminal record of one Nigel Horton, Esquire”, Cas said, slipping into his own bed.

“You believe there is something in his past which led to the murder?” I asked.

“I am sure of it”, he said. “Are you coming to bed?”

It would have ill behooved an alpha to have fallen over his feet in his haste to follow Cas into the bedroom, but I managed it somehow. I heard him give a dirty chuckle as I finally made it, by which time he had slipped into the bathroom. I wondered if sex in the bath was on offer again, but then he called out that he would not be long, so I got undressed with all my usual inefficiency, and was almost relieved when I made it naked to the bed before he came out.

Then he came out, and I could not stop myself letting out a guttural moan. He was wearing that damn long-coat of his. And. Nothing. Else!

“You always say how much you don't like this thing”, he said, and I could see his massive erection poking through the unsealed front. “So I thought..... let me try and convince you.”

“Mwah?”

Hell, I might as well sign up for omega status and have done with it! He stalked over to the bed like a panther and positioned himself between my splayed-out legs, the tails of his coat brushing my calves. It should not have been the least bit sexy, but I was in severe danger of......

I came violently, whining at the sudden release. He ran his hands over my chest, then wiped me down as I returned to normality.

“Well, that was a better reaction that even I had hoped for”, he teased. “And I was going to ride you. Still, perhaps you need some time to recover.”

He made to get off me, and somehow I managed to grab his arm, albeit weakly.

“Don't you dare!” I grumbled. “My refractory period is not what it was, but I can do this.”

He grinned and leaned over to all but smother me, and I realized that once again he was actually scenting me. I would need a long bath the following morning, or I would be getting some odd looks from the hotel staff, but at that moment I did not care. I had the man I loved and..... impossibly, I was getting hard again in seconds.

“My Dean”, he praised, positioning himself above me, that damned coat brushing against me. “Ever ready.”

He must have prepared himself, for he slid down on my length in one easy move, grunting only slightly as he rode me towards my second orgasm of the evening. I was putty in this man's hands, and alpha that I was, I just did not care. Although there were tears in my eyes as I came a second time and he erupted just seconds later, then cuddled against me before wiping the ejaculate off us both. I was still inside him when I fell asleep, exhausted.

+~+~+

The following day, Cas, myself, Lord De'Ath and Mr. Coburg assembled in the latter's office. It was rather crowded, as also present was the town's English-speaking policeman, Herr Franker. He was short, stout and a little out of breath from having had to hurry from the station.

“What is all the rush for?” he demanded, clearly annoyed. “Has something new come up?”

“I thought you would like to meet the murderer of the man whose body currently lies down at your station”, Cas said calmly. “Of course, if you would rather not....”

The policeman scowled at him.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“I confidently expect him to be in this room at ten o'clock”, Cas said.

We all looked as one at the small clock on the writing-desk, which said that there was barely a minute to go until the hour. Then we all looked at each other nervously. Never have I known sixty seconds to take so long, but with just a few seconds to go, a figure loomed outside the frosted glass door-window. I tensed up, and reached for the gun that Cas had advised me to have ready. The door opened.....

IV

It was Tom, one of the bell-boys. Everyone visibly deflated.

“Him?” the policeman said incredulously.

Cas smiled and shook his head, then took the proffered telegram from the boy, After quickly reading it, he tipped him and said 'no reply'.

“Was that the information you wanted?” I asked eagerly.

He nodded. 

“Yes”, he said, turning to the policeman. “I said I would have a murderer in this room by ten, did I not?”

“Er, yes, sir....”

“Then do your duty, sir, and arrest him.”

“Arrest who?” the policeman asked bewilderedly.

Cas pointed to the nobleman.

“That man”, he said. “Nigel Oliver Horton, who has been masquerading as the man he killed the night before last, Lord Gereint De'Ath. And my lord, the doctor's gun is currently trained on you, so I do not advise anything foolish.”

The policeman moved fast, and had the valet cuffed before dragging him to the doorway.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Mr. Horton said. “How the hell did you know?”

Cas smiled. 

“Several small things”, he said. “In particular, I recalled a comment Winchester here once made about the wrong person being murdered that time in a case in Surrey, and thought to myself; how much more fitting that the rich lord be killed than the poor valet. In which case, of course, his valet, who would subsequently masquerade as him, was the guilty party. It is dark at the check-in desk, and the clerk on duty likely would not even notice a lord's servant. And you decided to have your employer killed and out of the way long before anyone else had a chance to compare the two of you.”

“I set a trap for you at our meeting. Guessing you had only recently come into the man's employment, I lied about Kesteven Hall. If you had done any research, you would have realized that as the name suggests, it is a little to the east of Stamford, in the county of Lincolnshire, not Rutlandshire.”

The man snarled at him.

“Then there was the silver stick”, Cas said. “Fine silver is polished by the thumbs of a manservant, and your thumbs bore the faint but unmistakable marks of cleaning your master's silver, including that stick, on a regular basis. The real Lord De'Ath would obviously never have cleaned his own silver.”

Cas turned to the manager.

“That was also the reason for my comment about the doctor's remarks”, he explained. “Mr. Horton attacks his employer shortly after their arrival at the pool, around eight. He himself makes a point of telling the attendant that the lord, who was apparently sleeping, did not wish to be disturbed. About two hours later, Mr, Horton changes the clothes and lowers his master into the pool, then calls for help. Hence why the body was stiff; the doctor was not asked how long the man had been dead, but told that the attendant had seen him sat there reading when he left around a quarter to ten.”

“You think you're so smart”, Mr. Horton said. “It's just your word and some flimsy evidence, Mr. Novak!”

“That and your eyes”, Cas said.

“What?”

Cas turned to me.

“Henriksen sent me full descriptions of both Lord De'Ath and Nigel Horton”, he explained. “Lord De'Ath had pale blue eyes, which ran in his family, whilst Mr. Horton's are brown.” He turned back to the valet. “Your unusual choice of glasses alerted me to that possibility, sir.”

The man growled again, and the policeman hustled him away. The manager turned to Cas in gratitude.

“It goes without saying that your stay here will be free, sir”, he said. “And we would like to upgrade you to the best room we have.”

To my surprise, Cas shook his head.

“I think we will stay where we are, thank you”, he said knowingly. “I do not think either the doctor or myself would relish using the Royal Suite just now. Besides, I am finding our room very... comfortable.”

I tried not to blush, but failed.

+~+~+

Our next case would have a religious tone, and would also feature two events that would resonate for Cas and myself.....


	5. Case 40: The Magnificent Seven (1887-1888)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously unpublished, mentioned elsewhere as ‘the affair of the Vatican cameos’. I wanted to call this story ‘The Two Alphas of Verona’, but my erstwhile publishers disapproved. Killjoys!

I

I must begin by relating an experience not to do with this case, but one which affected me greatly, and which later proved my forebodings all too justified. Before we left Baden Baden and the scene of Cas’ latest success, he asked me if there was anywhere else in central Europe that I wished to see, as he was wanting to venture some way into Italy. I admitted to some desire to see the famous Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, which given my dislike of heights probably surprised my friend. I may have been imagining it, but I was sure (especially given later events) that he flinched slightly when I said the name. However, it was not too far off of our route southwards, so he agreed.  
   
We set out early for Basel, and had to wait at the Swiss town whilst border guards checked our passports and papers. I half feared that they would detain my friend because someone had selfishly chosen to get murdered again at precisely the wrong moment, but mercifully the town proved currently murder-free, and we were soon off in a slower train, rattling our way to the town of Meiringen where Cas had booked us in for two nights.  
   
The following day we set off early for the Falls, which should have been stunningly beautiful. Should have been. Yet even though I was viewing them from the ground upwards, they filled me with an unreasoning terror the like of which I have never known, and I actually started shaking for some strange reason, grabbing my friend's hand so tightly that it must, upon reflection, have hurt him. A concerned Cas ushered me away, and I felt bitterly ashamed of my reaction as we drove back to the hotel. But he was more worried about me, and agreed at once when I tentatively asked if it were possible to get away from the area sooner rather than later. In less than an hour we were driving back to the station, where we were fortunate to get a train almost immediately back as far as the town of Spiez, where the line down to Italy diverged. We found a fairly decent hotel for the night, and never was I more grateful to be simply held by Cas as I lay there, trying not to think about my totally unjustified reaction.

II

A night's sleep in my lover's arms did me the world of good, and I woke the following morning feeling quite refreshed. When Cas asked if there was anything else he could do, I shyly asked if he would fuck me so hard that I would have it on my mind all day, and thus be less likely to recall how foolish I had been. He duly obliged, and I was grateful that he had the foresight to gag me first, because otherwise my screams would have been heard all the way to the border!

Later that morning we resumed our journey, heading south to the Italian border and the town of Domodossola. This time it was Italian guards who checked our passports and papers on the train, two puffed-up betas who clearly thought a great deal of themselves. At least it gave me an appreciation of just how far my friend’s fame was spreading when one of them asked if he could have an autograph, and Cas promised – in fluent Italian, of course – to send him a copy of my next story if he gave us an address. The little man was smirking as the two left our compartment, but I supposed that he had every right. Especially as I had winced every time the train had jolted!  
  
Our first experience of Italian railways was an unnerving one. The engine looked like it should have been up against Mr. Stephenson’s Rocket at the Rainhill Trials half a century ago (it would have lost), not pulling a long rake of coaches through hilly countryside over five decades later. I wondered if we would even make it to Milan at one point when we slowed to walking pace up a steep hill, but we scrambled over the top and almost reached a decent speed coming down the other side. The trip past Lake Maggiore was breathtakingly beautiful, and I was silently relieved that a second natural beauty had not affected me like the first.  
  
Our hotel in Milan gave me an experience to remember, and cherish for that matter. As we were checking in on one side of the reception desk, a stunningly beautiful young woman was doing the same just a few feet away. I at first ignored her, but she seemed more intent on Cas, and walked up to him quite boldly. Of course she could not know what was between us as two alphas, but the way she all but draped herself over him was, frankly, quite offensive. At least until he muttered a few words to her in Italian, whereon she all but fell back from him in alarm. He smiled at her, then led me upstairs.  
  
“What did you say to her?” I asked.  
  
“She had a message from Balthazar”, Cas explained, causing my heart to sink in dread. “Unfortunately she chose to deliver it a little too personally for my tastes. I merely informed her that I was already taken.”  
  
I perked up at that.  
  
“Though I am finding these sort of things tiring”, he said. “My brother asks that we divert to Verona, where a rather delicate diplomatic affair is being attended to by Gabriel, down from Paris. He thinks that my counsel would be welcome. It is quite appropriate, when you come to think about it.”  
  
“When you come to think about what?” I asked, confused.  
  
“Shakespeare.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Well, the Two Gentlemen of Verona”, he reminded me. “And of course, Verona is also where they have the famous balcony from Romeo and Juliet. I think that would be an excellent place.”  
  
“For what?” I was all at sea. He levelled me with a look.  
  
“For us to exchange rings”, he said softly.  
  
Oh. Oh! I stared at him in shock. 

“Of course, if you would rather not....”

“Yes! For God's sake, yes!”

He smiled at my over-eagerness.  
  
+~+~+  
  
It was now December, and the following day the weather in northern Italy seemed to belatedly remember this. Our train eastwards – mercifully a rather more modern engine this time - had to face a driving snowstorm, and our progress was slow. Fortunately the snow stopped that afternoon, and after lunch on the train we arrived safely into the town of the doomed lovers.  
  
Talking of doom, Gabriel Novak was there to receive us (I suppose that one could not have everything). I knew that Cas rarely spoke to him, and that after he had deliberately had sex with me in his brother’s hotel suite not that long ago, their mother had called them both round and demanded a truce between them. Gabriel may have had a reputation as the family joker, but few could out-plan Cas when he got going.  
  
“Balti thinks you may have better luck than me in finding some lost treasures”, Gabriel explained as we sat down in his room at his hotel (I noted that Cas had booked us into the one across the square). “It’s another tricky situations involving these Eye-ties, like Miss Ricoletti.”  
  
I remembered that murderous female, now serving a life-sentence in her home country.  
  
“All right, some history”, Gabriel said, producing a lollipop from Heaven only knew where. “Back in ‘Seventy, the Italians overran the Papal States, and poor Pope Pius IX was effectively held prisoner in Rome. Ever since then, the Italians have been quietly stripping the papacy of all its lands away from the capital. A few weeks ago they seized a small private country house just outside of the town here, and that was where the fun started.”  
  
“I doubt any case that requires two Novaks to attend to it can be described as ‘fun’”, Cas said stiffly. Gabriel glared at him before continuing.  
  
“Amongst the items in the house were the Magnificent Seven or the Rainbow Cameos, seven seventeenth century engravings of famous popes throughout the ages”, the elder Novak continued, sucking at his lollipop. “One in each of the seven colours of the rainbow; as you know, different coloured cameos are rare. They were given new to the then pope in sixteen something or other by some Spanish king. The details aren’t important.”  
  
“I disagree with you there”, Cas said quietly. “The background may hold a clue to their disappearance. I take it they have been stolen?”  
  
“The house was taken possession of a week ago, at the end of last month”, Gabriel said. “The twenty-seventh. The cameos were definitely there on the twenty-sixth, because the people in charge of the house had guests round, and they were shown them. So they disappeared sometime overnight. Now the Italians are blaming papal agents for stealing their treasures, whilst the Pope is claiming that the Italians actually have them, and just want to make trouble.”  
  
“Why would they do that?” I wondered.  
  
Gabriel opened his mouth to clearly say something rude, but caught his brother’s warning glare just in time. He shut up and pulled out another lollipop.  
  
“Not having the blessing of the leader of the world’s Catholics rankles, even amongst the irreligious Italian leadership”, Cas explained. “They might hope to force concessions in return for their ‘finding’ the lost treasures. But you do not think that the Italians have them, Gabriel?”  
  
“No I do not”, his brother said. “The guy in charge of getting hold of them when the house was seized is Marcus Latimer – mother was Italian and his father English – he is possibly up for promotion soon, so this farrago is a disaster for him. And he is such a complete control freak, I cannot see any other government department getting past him.”  
  
“So that brings us to the people present in the home at the time the cameos disappeared”, Cas said. “Who were they?”  
  
“Only four people”, Gabriel said. When we both looked surprised at that, he explained. “It is but a small house set some way apart from the town, where one of the saints did a miracle in creating a local well. They didn’t have that many servants beforehand, and it’s just an elderly couple and their nephew, who was visiting at the time of the raid.”  
  
“Timely”, I muttered. Cas quirked an eyebrow at my cynicism, but did not remark on it.  
  
“The elderly couple were the Columbos, Nico and Benedicta”, Gabriel said. “Not beyond reproach, but pretty nearly. They’ve spent all their married lives there, taking possession when the last couple wanted to retire over thirty years ago. Their alpha nephew, Nicola Gallo, is rather a different matter. In some financial troubles, I understand, and selling something like the cameos would set him up for life, never mind just clearing his debts. He has been involved in a couple of instances of sharp financial practice, but nothing openly illegal. As yet, anyway. And....”

He stopped dramatically.

III

“The empty cameo case was found under his bed!”

“A stupid place, in which the real thief would never hide something so incriminating”, Cas said acidly. “The fourth person was a government agent, was he not?”  
  
His brother nearly choked on his lollipop.  
  
“Damnation, Cassie!” he growled. “How on earth did you know that?”  
  
Cas fixed him with an icy glare. I was sure that the temperature in the room fell by several degrees.  
  
“Drop the ‘Cassie’, got it”, Gabriel muttered. “Sorry. The fourth man was an alpha priest Gianni de Luca, officially Father Calocerus. He was named for the saint who performed the miracle of the well, and was a local man, coming there and often praying in the small chapel that adjoined it.”  
  
“You keep saying ‘was’”, I observed. “Why?”  
  
“As... Castiel says, the man was actually an Italian government agent, posted to spy on the place prior to the raid”, Gabriel explained. “I fear that he may have taken the cameos for himself, as we know that he took a train back to Rome just hours before the raid.”  
  
“I take it he did not reach Rome?” Cas ventured.  
  
“He barely made it out of the station”, Gabriel said glumly. “The ticket collector found him dead less than five minutes after the train had departed, stripped bare and with all his clothes gone. And he remembered that the man had been carrying a small case with him, which of course had vanished too.”  
  
Cas thought for a moment.  
  
“How did they identify the body, if all the clothes were gone?” I wondered.  
  
“I thought that too”, Gabriel admitted, looking a little annoyed that I had spotted something, “but he had a distinctive ring that was engraved with his patron saint, as did everyone at his order in Rome. Rather oddly he wore it on a necklace for some reason.”  
  
Cas smiled knowingly.  
  
“I rather think we need to talk with this Mr. Latimer”, he said.  
  
“I shall set up a meeting with him”, Gabriel said. “Do you think you can help?”  
  
“The solution seems rather obvious”, Cas yawned, “and Dean and I have some business of our own to transact in the town tomorrow. But I expect a solution very shortly, though I doubt you will like it very much.”  
  
His brother looked at him expectantly.  
  
“And if you had not called me ‘Cassie’ earlier”, Cas said bluntly, “I might have told you. But as it is, you can wait!”  
  
I tried to bite back a snigger, but I failed dismally. And I really did not care that I failed.  
  
+~+~+  
  
Mr. Latimer was a nervous beta in his early forties, and my first impression when we met him early the following morning was that he seemed quite unsuited to the field of espionage. My second impression reminded my first impression that that probably suggested that he was rather good at it.  
  
Cas got straight down to business.  
  
“I have some questions for you, Mr. Latimer”, he said, “and though I know lying is an essential part of your trade, I do urge you to be honest. I know or can guess what happened with the cameos, but I need you to confirm certain aspects of the case. Now, first, who was the government agent that you sent to spy on Father Calocerus?”  
  
“I assure you, we sent no-one”, the man declared roundly.  
  
“Then we are wasting our time”, Cas said. “Doctor?”  
  
I rose with him to go, but Mr Latimer sighed heavily and bade us sit down again. He looked cross, but resigned.  
  
“His name was Gianni Bianci”, he said. “One of our most trusted operatives, or so I thought. Except that I now fear he has killed Father Calocerus and taken the cameos for himself. Sold to a private buyer, they would set him up for life anywhere in the world.”  
  
“I need a physical description of him, if you please”, Cas said.  
  
“Forty-two, an alpha, above average height and receding blond hair”, Mr. Latimer said. “He was extremely fit for his age, and had striking blue eyes.”  
  
“And Father Calocerus?” Cas asked,  
  
“Thirty-nine, also an alpha, average height and no tonsure”, Mr. Latimer said. “His order frowned on such things, so he had his own fair hair, quite a good head of it for his age. I do not know his eye colour, but it would be on file if you required it.”  
  
“I rather suspect I already know it”, Cas said. “What about the couple's nephew who just happened to be visiting?”

“Twenty-one, average height, rather thin, and styled his hair in tight curls”, the man said, curling his lip in disdain. “The young nowadays!”

Cas thought for a moment.

“I have a request to make of you that is a little unusual”, he said. “I would like my friend the doctor to examine the body.”  
  
“To what end?” I asked at once. Cas smiled and shook his head.  
  
“If I told you that, my friend”, he said, “it would defeat the purpose of the exercise. But I would ask that you examine his legs particularly carefully. And note the size of his fingers.”  
  
I do not know who was the more confused at that point, Mr. Latimer or myself.  
  
+~+~+  
  
Mr. Latimer duly took me to the mortuary, where I spent a solid half hour examining the late Father Calocerus. I examined his legs for anything unusual as Cas had asked, but could see nothing the least bit out of the ordinary, which annoyed me greatly. They were in exactly the same condition as the rest of him, which was quite good. His fingers were short and rather stubby, and also equally uninformative. I was clearly missing some vital clue, and letting Cas down.  
  
I wrote up my notes, then went off to join my friend at a small restaurant in the town. The food was tolerable enough but I noted that Cas seemed strangely nervous, and kept looking at his watch.  
  
“Did you find anything unusual in your examination?” he asked suddenly.  
  
“Not really”, I said. “He was killed with a sharp dagger – Mr. Latimer told me that, of course – but his legs were just legs.”  
  
“What about his knees?” Cas asked, mystifying me even further.  
  
“Like the rest of him, in good condition for a man his age”, I said. “Should they not have been?”  
  
“You found exactly what I hoped you would find”, Cas praised, “Well done.”  
  
I preened, though I still had no idea as to what I had or had not done that was so great. And Cas was still looking at his watch every few minutes.  


IV

“We have an appointment”, he explained as we left the restaurant. “Just a little way along this street. I asked around, and the place came highly recommended.”  
  
I nodded, feeling as clueless as ever. No change there, then.  
  
We continued a little way until we reached a jewellery shop. Cas stopped outside it and, to my surprise, took my hand. The street was quiet enough, but such public declarations of affection were rare, and possibly dangerous.  
  
“I do not want any more women or omegas courting my, or your, affections”, he said simply. “Although it will be many decades, probably even centuries, before what we have can be recognized, I want to declare you and mine, and myself as yours. I want us to wear engagement rings.”  
  
He looked so uncertain that I nearly kissed him then and there. Instead I managed to restrict myself to merely squeezing his hand and uttering a heartfelt ‘oh yes!’.  
  
+~+~+  
  
I had thought we would be proceeding back to the hotel to meet with Gabriel and/or Mr. Latimer, but instead Cas took us a little deeper into town, whilst I fingered my new ring. Like Cas’, it was plain silver, but the fact that we were now together – alpha and alpha – made me feel so happy that I felt I could fly.  
  
Cas led me into a small house that looked unremarkable enough, and the lady there smiled as she led us upstairs. She ushered us into the room, and a note changed hands before she left. Cas took me to the window and led me out onto a small balcony.  
  
Slow as ever, I finally got it.  
  
“Romeo and Juliet!” I exclaimed. He smiled.  
  
No”, he said simply. “Cas and Dean.”  
  
The street was deserted, but for all I cared there could have been a marching band passing by. Then and there, on the same balcony famed for a tragic love story, I kissed him.  
  
In the end, it proved all too apt.  
  
+~+~+  
  


We returned to our hotel, and Cas refused to tell his brother what he knew until we had had dinner. I may just possibly have enjoyed the look on Gabriel Novak's face more than I should have done. 

No.

Finally, we adjourned to a small private room, where Gabriel and Mr. Latimer were waiting. Cas sat down opposite them both and I sat next to him.

“I am afraid that I do not have good news for you”, Cas said bluntly. “I am certain that the Magnificent Seven cameos are currently in the possession of His Holiness the Pope, and I very much doubt that the Italian government will ever see hide nor hair of them.”

“How can you know that?” Gabriel demanded.

“I not only know it, I can prove it”, Cas said firmly. “Let us relate the sequence of events as they actually happened, from the point of view of the man who took them.”

“Gianni Bianci”, Mr Latimer said scornfully.

“No”, Cas said. “Father Calocerus.”

We all stared at him in shock.

“But he is dead!” I objected.

“The man you examined earlier is, I can tell you, Gianni Bianci”, Cas said. “Two things at least show this. First, we know that the real Father Calocerus would spend a large part of his time praying on his knees, yet Dean, you told me that they were in as good a condition as the rest of him. Clearly therefore, the man you examined was not a priest.”

I stared in shocked silence.

“The second test relates to what really happened that day”, Cas said. “Father Calocerus is a loyal Catholic, and he knows that very soon, the house and the cameos will be seized by the Italian government. He cannot save the house, but the cameos are another matter. In a small case, they can easily be concealed in a priest's robes.”

“He is quite aware that the couple's unpleasant nephew has financial difficulties, so he plants the empty case under the man's bed, hoping to divert suspicion. He is also aware that the Italian government has an agent watching the house to prevent anyone spiriting the cameos away, though he does not know who that is as of yet. Though of course he recognizes that, if someone leaves the house for any reason, the agent will likely follow them.”

“He is fortunate. When the agent confronts him on the train, he realizes that they are similar enough in appearance and build for him to take advantage of the fact. The agent does not suspect that the middle-aged priest would carry a weapon, and it is over in an instant. Clothes are exchanged, but there is one problem. The priest's ring will not fit on the man's slightly larger ring-finger. Fortunately his victim wears a plain gold necklace, and the priest is able to attach it to that. Should you, Mr. Latimer, try to place that ring on the finger of the man you have in your mortuary, you will find that it does not fit.”

The diplomat stared at him, clearly aghast.

“From the speed with which the body was found, with the train barely outside the city, things must have been tight”, Cas said. “Of course the train was stopped immediately the body was discovered, and Father Calocerus simply got out and walked back to Verona, catching a later train to Rome. He was now officially 'dead', and no-one was looking for a middle-aged man in slightly ill-fitting clothes heading to the Italian capital.”

“So the cameos are lost”, Mr. Latimer said bitterly. “My superiors will not be pleased.”

“In fairness, you did everything you could to obtain them”, Cas said. “I do not think they can blame you. And I am sure that, many years from now and after the papal situation is finally resolved, some mysterious private buyer will donate a set of coloured cameos to the Vatican in their will.”

+~+~+

Cas, of course, turned out to be right. The Vatican City, the smallest state in the world, was created for the Pope under the Lateran Treaty many years later, nineteen hundred and twenty-nine to be exact. Just three months later, the Magnificent Seven resurfaced, having been anonymously gifted to the Pope to celebrate his new earthly realm.

+~+~+

Next time, an encounter with vampires, and blood will out....


	6. Case 41: Dark Side of the Moon (1887-1888)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Valley Of Fear'.

Author's note: Although this is the same story as was published last century, I am sure sharp-eyed readers will note that one of the main characters does not go down with his ship in an Atlantic storm whilst fleeing from justice. In fact there is every chance that he still lives on the other side of the world, thousands of miles away from the scene of his 'crime'. And in this case, that is probably how things should be. Though it disturbed me that I was becoming as flexible with my interpretations of justice as Cas was with his body during his morning exercises.

Look, I was just observant!

+~+~+

I

My original title to this story had a double meaning, not (for obvious reasons) divulged to my readers at the time. I do not think that I am at all fanciful, but events during our trip across the Continent caused me to possibly reconsider that belief. Though the case took place around the Hungarian town of Volgafel – the name means 'valley of fear' – events prior to that should be related first.

It was one of those quirks of fate that, the day after solving the case of the Vatican cameos and celebrating our 'engagement', a telegram reached us from England. I assumed initially it was from the surgery, but found to my surprise that it had been sent on from London, having originated from Berwick, so it had to be from Sammy. I read the contents with amazement.

“Not bad news, I hope”, Cas said, materializing behind me at the table. Of course I did not jump in shock, or let out a girly shriek at being surprised in such a manner. 

All right, I did. Cas said he would not let me publish this story unless I put that bit back in. Bastard!

“It's from Sammy”, I said. “He's finally asked that girl he met at university in Edinburgh to marry him, and she said yes!”

My brother had studied the full seven-year law course at the university in the Scottish capital, finishing in 'Eighty-One, after which he had acquired a junior position at a practice in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. When his firm opened a new office in the border town of Berwick-on-Tweed two years back, Sammy had been desperate to move there, because the girl he had known in college, Jessica Moore, came from that town. I had ribbed him about spending all those years in college being afraid to say anything, but it seemed she had been prepared to wait, for they had taken up almost immediately on his arrival in England's most northerly outpost. Though quite why she had abandoned all sense and said yes to the moose, Heaven only knew.

I had met Miss Moore only the once, when they had come down for last Christmas. She had impressed me with her strong personality, though when she did what most of the female population seemed wont to do and smiled dreamily at Cas, I had all but growled at her. Honestly, sometimes it was as if the scruffy-haired angel had a huge sign above his head which said 'ready, willing and available'! He was mine! And now he wore an engagement ring, all and any women and omegas could back off!

I realized belatedly that this conversation was causing the familiar tightness in my trousers, and sighed. He sat down opposite me and stared in some concern.

“You are happy for your brother?” he inquired, helping himself to some coffee.

“Of course”, I said. “I just wish..... I could tell him.”

A small part of me, to which I barely listened, muttered that after I had growled at his girlfriend, Sammy probably knew all too well just what sort of relationship Cas and I had. I realized I had been gripping my spoon so hard that I had succeeded in slightly bending it. Fortunately my friend had not noticed (or was tactful enough not to remark on the fact), and I sipped my coffee thoughtfully.

+~+~+

I had never been happier than when Cas and I stood on that famous balcony, and we slipped our rings onto each other's fingers. We spent three days in the city, and it passed in a sort of daze as we frequently found ourselves just staring at each other, as if we could not believe what we had done. Yes, what we had would almost certainly never be acknowledged in England, at least during our lifetimes, but we now had each other for sure. It was incredible, and wonderful.

Finally leaving Verona, we moved east to Padua, possibly the oldest city in the country having been founded (allegedly) by Trojans fleeing the loss of their city. This place of course was the setting for another of the Bard's great works, 'The Taming Of The Shrew'. We spent a pleasant day and night here, before moving onto great Venice, which was so wonderful that we spent a whole week there, taking in the sights. I did not like the idea of going around by gondola, but Cas found a restaurant where moored gondolas were set up outside, the food being brought out to us. I loved him even more for doing something like that.

We then journeyed north through the hills – suggestions by a certain blue-eyed genius as to the possibility of a cable-car ride were met with a frosty glare – to reach glorious Vienna three days before Christmas, and again I dragged Cas around all the tourist sites, enjoying every minute of our time there. He seemed a little bemused by my (over-)enthusiasm, but was prepared to go along with it because he was – well, Cas. I was happy, and Cas seemed happy that I was happy. When I presented him with the pipe-case I had purchased from Mr. Leowitz in London, I knew he felt guilty that he had not thought to buy me anything, even though I insisted that the holiday itself was more than enough. And best of all, nothing else was going wrong.

Until we reached Hungary.

These were the halcyon days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, when the polyglot Hapsburg dominions had been basically split in twain, ruled jointly from Vienna and Budapest (a Times journalist had quipped that this had been done so the Austrians and Hungarians could each suppress their relative minorities who wanted independence in their respective halves of the empire, which was cynical but probably a little too close to the truth). We spent the last few days of the year in the latter city, again enjoying the sights, before setting off for Bucharest and Odessa. The latter would be our penultimate port of call before turning for home, because I wanted to venture into the Crimean Peninsula and witness the battlefields and memorials of the still-recent war there.

Even though we were travelling as private gentlemen, word had somehow reached the British embassy in Budapest of our arrival in the city, and on New Year's Eve a telegram reached our hotel asking us if we would call on the British ambassador. Not for an official function or anything, oddly enough, but in a private capacity. Somewhat worried at the ominous vagueness in the message, I accompanied my friend to the embassy the following day, our departure having been postponed for twenty-four hours. I hoped it was not to be for longer.

Sir Hugh Baffington-Smythe was the archetypal Briton abroad, I thought upon meeting him. He was about fifty, an alpha with pale blond hair and a moustache, and a military air about him. This did not come as a surprise; I knew that his family hailed from Rothbury in my home county of Northumberland, and that his father and younger brother were both in the army. I also noticed, with some terror, a set of Northumbrian bagpipes on a chair in the corner of the room. I silently prayed that we would escape without having heard them in use; this part of the world had suffered enough without having to cope with that!

Unusually for a diplomat, Sir High got straight to the point.

“I know you two gentlemen wish to continue with your vacation, but I wondered if you would care to investigate a rather curious matter that has come to my attention”, he said. “It would mean a considerable detour, heading to Debrecen before taking a local train to Kolozsvár. We have a mission in that town, and our man there would of course help with any arrangements to get you back on course.”

“Perhaps you would care to tell us what this involves”, Cas smiled.

The diplomat fiddled nervously with his moustache.

“Vampires”, he said at last.

Whatever I may have been expecting, that was not it.

“Vampires?” I said incredulously. Sir Hugh nodded.

“Take a seat, gentlemen”, he said. “This may take some explaining.”

II

“Volgafel is a small village about ten miles from Kolozsvár, on the edge of the province of Transylvania”, he began. “Although that seems close to civilization, it is a sparsely-populated area, and from what our man on the ground says, culturally very backwards. It is also home to a rebel movement as far as the government here in Budapest is concerned; many Transylvanians wish to federate with or even become part of Romania, even though that state is barely ten years old.”

I smiled inwardly at the unwitting condescension in his voice. I knew that the political instability in the Balkans was causing unease across Europe, and that particularly after the recent Russo-Ottoman war, Great Britain was still fearful that the Russian Bear was seeking to establish a presence in the Mediterranean, threatening British links with its eastern empire.

“Despite being in the middle of nowhere, Volgafel is important”, Sir Hugh went on. “It is the site of a battle fought and lost against the Ottomans, who pursued a group of Wallachian rebels into Hungary during the 'Seventy-Seven rebellion and wiped them out there. Not a single man survived, the prisoners being gunned down after the battle was over, presumably in an attempt to cower the locals. As such, it holds much meaning for the people there. And now, we have vampires to add to the mix.”

“How so?” Cas asked.

“Three months ago, an off-duty soldier was found unconscious. He was one of a group carrying out a patrol in the village, and had become separated whilst investigating a barn. His fellow soldiers found him lying unconscious up against a cart outside it – with two puncture wounds in his neck. The Carpathian Hills are renowned for stories of vampires sucking the blood of their victims.”

“What did he remember?” Cas asked.

“Just everything going black”, the diplomat said. “He thought there was some sort of winged creature around, but he wasn't sure. The soldiers left the area rather quickly.”

“I am not surprised”, I said. He smiled.

“I should explain that Volgafel is, in effect, the 'capital' of the valley”, Sir Hugh continued. “There are no places of any size between it and Kolozsvár. Two weeks ago a night patrol went up the valley. It got about halfway when they stopped to investigate a local house. It was a huge place, and when the soldiers reassembled, one of their number was missing. The man was eventually found lying inside an out-building – dead. And he had two puncture-wounds on his neck! The soldiers immediately abandoned the patrol and returned to the town.”

Cas pressed his fingers together.

“Have there been any further patrols up the valley?” he asked.

“One”, Sir Hugh said. “Over a hundred men marched all the way to Volgafel and back again, and never split into groups any smaller than three. Nothing happened.”

My friend smiled knowingly, before turning to me.

“I think, doctor”, he said, “a little trip to vampire country is in order. Tell me, Sir Hugh, does the local commander speak English?”

“He should”, the diplomat smiled. “He is half-Welsh, his father claiming descent from the great Llywelyn the First. And the great warrior's Christian name? Llywelyn Feher.”

+~+~+

I had been surprised to learn that the Hungarians would readily accept being told to do by a foreigner, though after a few moments, with Llywelyn Feher, I quickly realized why. The man was frankly terrifying! He must have been six foot six at least, an alpha with curly red hair and a sharp face. He also seemed wary of both of us, although that could have been just natural xenophobia. 

“I would of course be grateful if you and the doctor could help clear up this case”, he said courteously. “The effect on the men's morale is crushing, and the excursion up the valley in force last week didn't help.”

“Why?” I asked. He turned to me.

“We are in what amounts to hostile territory here, doctor”, he explained. “This is not technically Transylvania, but the local people see themselves as part of that area, and most of them want out of the Empire. I am sure they are hoarding weapons for a possible uprising somewhere in the area, though I doubt they would be stupid enough to do so anywhere around Volgafel, now that we have made our interest in the area so clear.”

Cas looked at him curiously. His next question surprised me.

III

“Your mother came from this country?” he asked.

It certainly surprised the Welshman.

“Yes”, he said, clearly wondering at the relevancy of the question. “From Brasso, down by the Romanian border.”

Cas nodded.

“We shall be going there when we leave here”, he said, “as it is the last stop before the border. And the two soldiers?”

That seemed to evince a reaction. The Welshman bristled.

“Feher – no relation; it's a common enough name over here, translates as 'White' – is a good man. It was also he who found the dead man, Kasovar, during the second raid.”

“I am surprised he wanted to go again after his experience”, I observed.

The soldier turned to me.

“He is a good soldier”, he repeated. “He knows his duty.”

“Locals?” Cas asked.

“Yes, both from the town”, the soldier said, clearly wondering where Cas was going with this line of questioning. “Sir....”

“Are you planning any further excursions up the valley?” my friend interrupted.

The Welshman looked as if he was considering whether to trust us, before obviously deciding it was worth the risk. 

“Yes”, he said, clearly reluctantly. “An unannounced raid against a farm just beyond Volgafel, at daybreak the day after tomorrow. There is nothing there, but I think a second raid passing off safely might help calm the men down.”

“The doctor and I are travelling onto Brasso tomorrow”, Cas announced, which was news to me. “I do not think there is anything here worth investigating, sir, though I am sure Sir Hugh would expect to be informed of any future... developments.”

I wondered at the pause. The Welshman nodded.

“He shall so be”, he said.

+~+~+

“You did not mention that we would be moving on so soon”, I said, perhaps a little petulantly as we sat in our hotel room later that day. 

“I do not intend to go far”, Cas said. “Just to the next fair-sized town south, then we shall wait there for developments.”

“And what developments would those be?” I inquired. 

He smiled at me mischievously.

“The next vampire attack”, he said. “I expect it during the raid on the farm in two days' time. We shall return to the town that day, and sort matters out.”

“Sorting out a vampire?” I asked. 

“I rather think that this type of vampire can be reasoned with”, he said enigmatically.

I frowned, because I knew from the look on his face that he would say no more. And worse luck, I was right!

+~+~+

The following day we made our departure from the station in Kolozsvár (I noticed at least one soldier watching us depart, which meant Captain Feher was keeping tabs on us), and we went south as far as the next town of Gyĕres before getting off and booking into a hotel there. It was a pleasant enough area, and I enjoyed our day there walking around the town (although once again, there were rather too many mountains in the area for comfort!). The next morning we boarded an early train back to Kolozsvár. I wondered to myself if this might be the first time that my friend's colossal self-confidence might actually be misplaced.

Then I saw the look of shock on Captain Feher's face when we were announced into his room, and thought, possibly not. The Welshman looked far from pleased to see us.

“There has been another attack, I presume?” Cas asked.

The soldier looked at him sharply. 

“How the hell do you know that?” he demanded. “The men only got back three hours ago!”

IV

Cas looked at him thoughtfully, before turning to me.

“Tell me doctor”, he said conversationally, “how do you think the Austro-Hungarian government would react to the news that one of their army officers was in league with people seeking to break up their country?”

I gaped, though my expression cannot have been more shocked than that of the Welshman.

“I think you have outstayed your welcome, gentlemen”, he said acidly.

Cas turned back to him.

“I know what you did”, he said firmly. “I should like to know one thing more, though. Why?”

I thought for a moment that the soldier was going to continue denying whatever he had done, but his shoulders slumped and he all but fell back into his chair. For a while he just sat there, before pulling himself together and extracting a framed photograph and passing it over to Cas, who showed it to me. It was of two young men in army uniform, their arms around each other and both smiling at the photographer. Cas nodded understandingly.

“Your brother?” he asked.

“Half-brother”, the Welshman said with a sigh. “My father was killed in India not long after I was born, and Mother was left to raise me on her own. Even though she was Hungarian born and bred, she seemed to have an affinity with the Valleys, and she married a beta out of Maerdy two years later, Davy Jones. She was scared I wouldn't approve when I grew up, but my stepfather is a good man, and they are happy together. They had Owain, who was three years younger than me and an alpha, within the year.”

“And the boy?” Cas pressed.

The soldier's face darkened.

“Owain was the reverse of my mother”, he said darkly. “Welsh born and bred, but he took to the Carpathians like it was his native land. He came to view the Hungarians as the enemy, occupying the lands of his forebears, and did everything he could to unseat them. I warned him to take care, but he thought he was indestructible. He was captured and shot.”

I belatedly figured things out.

“You are a double agent”, I said.

The soldier hung his head, but did not deny it.

“It must have taken you close on a decade, judging by your age”, Cas said gently. “You found out that your brother had been betrayed, and you were able to use your contacts to, eventually, find the man responsible.”

“Who was?” I asked.

“Private Kasovar”, Cas said. “The victim of the 'vampire'.”

He turned back to the soldier.

“It was all exceptionally well-planned”, he said. “Once you were in a position of power, you arranged for the men to mount a raid on the valley. You knew the stories about vampires, and how it got its name – Volgafel, the Valley of Fear – and played on that. You arranged with Privater Feher that he would be the first 'victim', and either you or he inflicted the infamous puncture wounds on his neck. Is he a relation, by the way?”

The soldier nodded.

“Martin, my first cousin”, he said. “He is the son of Maria, my mother's sister. He took her name when his father joined the Hungarians.”

I could hear the venom in his voice. Cas nodded.

“Then comes the second raid”, Cas said. “This is what you have been planning for all along. You did not mention it to us at the time, but you led that raid. It was easy to get Private Kasovar alone for a moment, away from the others. You gagged him, then, I would wager, told him why you were about to kill him. I dare say that if we put in for the body to be disinterred, we would still be hard put to find where the fatal wound went in, but you killed him. Was your cousin involved?”

“He was keeping watch for the others”, the soldier admitted. “But the murder is mine and mine alone, and whatever court I end up standing before, I take full responsibility for it.”

I knew from the look on his face that the man did not regret his actions in the slightest. Nor, on reflection, did I feel he should. His brother had been destroyed by the actions of another, and he had only sought justice for one he loved. I would have done exactly the same.

“A just vengeance”, I said before I could stop myself. Cas looked at me.

“Do you think so?” he asked. “It is still murder.”

“I would do the same if it had been someone I loved”, I said firmly.

“Like your brother”, my friend said.

If I was being strictly truthful with myself, it had not been Sammy that I had been thinking of when I uttered those words, but a certain person not so far away. Mercifully Cas turned back to the Welshman, though the fractional hesitation before he did so was a little unnerving.

“The doctor finds in your favour”, he said, “and in the light of the evidence, I am inclined to agree with him. But you cannot continue here, sir. Not after taking a life, even if it was the life of a Judas.”

The Welshman nodded.

“I had thought to go to Patagonia, or even the Falkland Isles”, he said. “It is the other side of the world, and there are Welsh communities down there. I shall take my cousin with me, if he will go.”

“I would advise you both so to do”, Cas said. “The doctor will doubtless be making a novel out of this small adventure, but I am sure he can be persuaded to amend the ending, so as to spare you the prospect of any retribution.”

“Thank you, sir”, the soldier smiled.

I looked back down at the picture Cas was still holding, and mused on the ties of family and friendship, and the lengths some people would go to honour them.

+~+~+

I did not know whether or not Cas approved of my attitude towards this killing until some weeks later, when he passed a newspaper across to me. There was a small article marked for me to read, about the sinking of the Good Hope, sailing from Naples to South America. Listed among the missing passengers were a Captain Llewelyn Feher and a Private Martin Feher. 

“So they didn't make it”, I said sadly.

Cas looked at me knowingly, and it took a disturbingly long time for it to sink through. 

“Balthazar”, he said. “He arranged for their names to be added for me. The two men made their destination safely, my friend.”

It was one of those rare times I had ever been glad that a murderer had got away.

+~+~+

Our next adventure would be in the Russian town of Odessa. Well, sort of.....


	7. Case 42: Houses of the Holy (1888)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously unpublished, mentioned elsewhere as 'the case at the Trepoff Monastery in Odessa'.

I

Cas looked at me apologetically, and I groaned inwardly when I realized he was pulling out the puppy-dog eyes again. It had been bad enough that I had a little brother who could look like an injured puppy and get me to do exactly what he wanted with just a Look, but trust me to fall for the one alpha who also had that trait. 

Then he rubbed his gloriously naked body up against mine, and I was reminded that perhaps there were one or two very minor compensations. 

“Wha... what is it?” I managed. 

We had just arrived in Constanţa, the chief port of Romania (then a smaller country than it is today), and I had been looking forward to a few days working our way along the coast of the Black Sea to Odessa, then another week exploring the Crimea from that port before returning home. For as much as I would have thought it impossible, I was beginning to miss the eternal fog and grime of old London Town. At the moment however Cas was rubbing our cocks together and had me very firmly pinned down onto my bed – not that I had any desire to be anywhere else than under him. Unless it was with him inside of me.

“Balthazar had a telegram waiting for me when we arrived”, he said. “He is doing me a favour as regards our recent adventure in vampire country, and asks if I would hurry to Odessa in order to investigate a rather difficult murder.”

(I would not find out for another couple of weeks that that favour entailed covering for the 'murderer' in our recent case. And it was signally unfair of him to ask me things when what little remained of my mind was, as ever, incapable of saying no to him).

I sighed, but smiled reassuringly at my friend. He was, after all, paying for this whole adventure, and I owed him so much for that and everything else. That and the way his face visibly relaxed when he saw that I was happy with the change in plans. Cas always looked so different when he truly smiled. Almost ethereal.

“Do we have to leave straight away?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“We have to take two trains to the border with Russia”, he said, “and the last one has already gone today. At least we have an evening here. It will take most of tomorrow to get there, I'm afraid. But in the meantime..... let me make it up to you.”

I sighed happily. Ever since the Don Pacifico incident back in the fifties, foreign countries had been much more welcoming to British citizens, if only because they did not want a British gunboat turning up to explain precisely why they should play nice! We had been given the best room in this hotel, and although it was still not that large, the bed was particularly comfortable. And strong, which was good as it was currently supporting the weight of two alphas, as Cas rubbed himself up and down me like a cat.

“You're going to scent me?” I asked drowsily. The train journey here had been both long and uncomfortable, and I was feeling more than tired after a decent evening meal. Although not too tired for what I hoped would come (me). He smiled down at me, and kissed me.

“Does it bother you when I do that?” he asked.

“Not really”, I said. “I know that I am owned. Though that love-bite you left the other day was pushing it. The waitress at our hotel this morning looked quite scandalized!”

“An alpha allowing his mate to mark him”, Cas said. “It is still unusual. I am sorry, but I like seeing and smelling my marks on you. It keeps others off of you.”

“As if I could have any energy left for anyone else!” I scoffed, and he worked down my chest and toyed with my nipples. “You always leave me exhausted.”

I gasped as he suddenly shifted downwards – God, he could move fast! - and took my half-hard length in his mouth. My eyes rolled back in my head.

“Jesus Christ!”

“No religious references when being sucked off by the man named after an angel, please, Dean.” I do not know how he managed to speak with a mouthful of cock, but then he always surprised me. I was fully hard within seconds, and he half-pulled off, teasing my cock-head with his tongue. I whined, and the bastard immediately grasped the base of my cock with his hand, preventing me from coming. That was mean!

“Cas!” I growled.

He let out a dirty laugh, and then not only relaxed his grip but also started tickling me behind my balls. That was it; I was gone, coming so violently my ejaculate flew right over my face and onto the wall behind the bed. I shook as my orgasm finished, then collapsed even further into the comfortable mattress. I was done.

Except I then made the mistake of glancing upwards, and there was Cas sat between my legs, jerking himself towards climax. It was a glorious sight, and incredibly (and painfully) I found myself growing hard again. He came as violently as I had, his come flying partly onto my face and partly against the wall next to mine.

“Sorry”, he muttered, reaching for a tissue to wipe me off. “But you are just too hot, doctor. And I am but a man.”

“But what a man!” I managed, as he collapsed on top of me in a blissed-out lump. Our semi-hard erections ground against each other, but we were both a long way from being teenagers, and there was no way either of us was going to manage the energy for another round that night. I sighed happily, wrapped an arm around my blue-eyed genius, and promptly passed out.

+~+~+

The next morning, I discovered that for once, Cas had been wrong. It took three tortuous days to make the journey to Odessa, mainly because a huge snowstorm blew in off the Black Sea that night and closed all the railways lines in eastern Romania. However, it would take more than a little meteorological irregularity to stop the wishes of Balthazar Novak. When the snow had not been cleared by the second day, Cas told me that his brother had hired a small boat, and that we would be making the journey by sea. A very unpleasant and rough journey it was too, during which I was sick three times, though the boat itself, a small steamer, was pleasant enough.

+~+~+

“So we have a murder in Russia”, I observed as our cab juddered away from our hotel in Odessa.  
   
“Yes and no”, my friend said.  
   
I looked at him exasperatedly. He stared back at me.  
   
“Cas!” I complained (it was not a whine, although an outside observer may, in an uncharitable moment, have considered it as such).  
   
He smiled at me, and I melted like the omega I usually was around him.  
   
“The murder took place in the famous Trepoff Monastery, better known as St. Stephen’s”, he explained. “It is the huge church we saw as we drew in to land yesterday – although you may have been throwing up at the time” (I scowled at him for that). “It is legally no man’s land; apparently the church founder some six centuries back was promised all the land south of the headland, which then was a tiny island only a few feet long, and he and the monks then spent years carting tons of stone to create a new spur of land on which the monastery is now built. It is of course an Orthodox shrine, but contains separate worship areas for members of other faiths.”  
   
“And the murder took place on holy ground?” I said, aghast.  
   
“Indeed”, Cas said. “The Russians are threatening to get involved, which would add a religious dimension to our already complicated relations with them. And as the dead man was a citizen of the Ottoman Empire, they too have an interest.”  
   
“Problems all round, then”, I said.  
   
Our cab came in sight of the huge monastery, looming large against the morning horizon of the Black Sea, and I could smell the salt in the air. There was no customs post or anything as we effectively left Russia, and we rumbled over the narrow causeway and up to the door, where an officious-looking guard looked at us as if he would have loved to have turned us away, but knew that he (reluctantly) had to let us in. When the huge oak doors slammed shut behind us, I was hard put to remember this was a religious establishment, and not a prison.  
 

II

Abbot Godfrid was a tall, lean alpha in his fifties, with greying hair and pince-nez. I wondered how he felt at us being called in, and whether he would make things easy or difficult. I did not have long before I found out.  
  
“Doctor Winchester!” he beamed at me, as if I was an old friend whom he had just not seen for a while. I almost stepped back at the over-effusiveness of the greeting before he elaborated. “I have read your latest book, and my friend in England sends me the Strand magazine as soon as it comes out. I am so pleased you and the great Mr. Castiel Novak have agreed to investigate our problem. I only hope you can reach a solution quickly.”  
  
I nodded, knowing what he meant about the political situation. I caught Cas smiling at my reaction, and shot him a quick glare.  
  
“Please tell us everything about what happened”, Cas said, as we both took our seats. The Abbot sighed heavily.  
  
“I will get Prior Gustavus to show you the scene of the crime later”, he said, “after we have talked through what little I can tell you. Unfortunately I was just arrived back from a conference in Moscow when it all happened, and was still settling back in. It is a terrible mess.”  
  
“I left for the conference two weeks back. Eight days ago, a man calling himself just ‘Mohammed’ came to the Abbey. As you know, we have separate worship areas for other religions, so nothing much was thought about it when he went into the room reserved for Muslims. However, at the end of the day, he refused to leave. Prior Gustavus was not pleased, but he did not wish to force the issue, so the man was allowed to stay the night.”  
  
“I am surprised you did not use your soldiers to have him evicted”, I said.  
  
The abbot smiled.  
  
“One of the terms of our being allowed to build in the first place was that the non-Orthodox areas became sanctuaries”, he explained. “That of course became the issue the next day, when the man officially claimed sanctuary. Fortunately we have several Arabic speakers amongst the brotherhood, so his demands were understood, if politically unwelcome. And then he went and got himself murdered!”

I suppressed a smile at the indignation of the holy father, that someone should be so downright inconsiderate as to allow themselves to be done to death on his premises. He continued.  
  
“I should explain at this point that there is an old legend, which we have been very careful to encourage, that in a time long ago, a local official ignored the abbey’s neutrality and tried to break in to seize a prisoner claiming sanctuary inside. He was struck down by lightning the moment he touched the great door. Our neighbours in Odessa have changed several times since then, but the Russians have always respected our 'borders', and when they wish to talk, they always send a messenger first. One arrived barely half an hour after my own return, so the Prior and I went into town.”  
  
The abbot’s face went sour. “It turned out that the man was wanted for abducting a nine-year-old girl and forcing her to go through some sham of a wedding ceremony. That sort of thing is, from what I understand, thought acceptable in their own religion, but of course the girl’s parents, who were Christians…. well, they were furious. And, as it turned out, quite influential in local political circles, which of course made matters worse. Fortunately they got her back, but they determined to pursue her abductor.”  
  
“Rightly so!” I said firmly.  
  
“The rules of sanctuary bind me more firmly than any laws”, the abbot said, sounding almost rueful. “The man had twelve days from his claim being made – I know it is forty in the West, but things are different here - and if he did not leave at that time, then he had to be allowed to leave the country. Of course that is a little difficult here as, technically, there is no country to leave, but the point is that he could not be challenged. I understand that the Ottoman Empire offered to take him away by boat if necessary, and the Russians promptly threatened to blockade the abbey if they tried.”

Cas pressed his fingers together.

“Did you return from your conference on time?” he asked.

The abbot looked surprised at the question.

“Ahead of time, actually”, he said. “I made a connection that I had expected to miss by four hours, and reached here almost a day early as a result. Do you think the killer expected me to still be away?”

“It is possible”, Cas mused. “It is noteworthy that the killing happened at the one time you were away, which I would presume is not a common occurrence. So to the murder.”  
  
“It was the strangest thing”, the abbot said. “I of course had a meeting with Prior Gustavus immediately on my return, and he briefed me on events during my absence. Things were particularly tense as the girl’s family had come to the abbey to worship, as was their right…..”  
  
“Are they all Orthodox Christians?” Cas interrupted. The abbot looked surprised again.  
  
“All except one, her elder brother”, he said. “He is of the Jewish persuasion; I believe he has married a Jewess.”  
  
Cas smiled knowingly, though I did not see why.  
  
“About an hour after dinner”, the abbot continued, “the Prior came running into my room, looking frantic. Someone had managed to break into the Muslim worship area and had fatally stabbed our guest. This is a calamity of the first order, gentlemen. If we cannot find out who is responsible, there is every possibility that war may be renewed between Moscow and Constantinople.”  
  
“A dreadful prospect”, I intoned. Cas seemed lost in thought.  
  
“Is the room where the man was staying completely secure?” my friend asked.  
  
Was it my imagination, or was there the briefest pause before the abbot answered?  
  
“Yes”, he said. “The only way off the peninsula is via the causeway, and we always have a guard at the door.”  
  
“What rooms adjoin onto where the man was?” Cas asked.  
  
“It is the second of the four non-Orthodox rooms”, the abbot explained. “The Jewish room is on the north side, and the Catholic room on the south. And yes, I did think that, Mr. Novak, particularly with the elder brother Frederick Sulerian having visited the next room around the time of the murder, but the doors between all four rooms are always kept locked, and only I have the keys.”

“There are no spares?” Cas asked.

“One set, but they are kept by the porter and the on-duty guard.” On seeing my confused expression he went on, “it is a double lock; I have two keys that will open it, and they have one each. The guards change, of course, but the porter, Septimus, I would trust with my life.”

“You left your own set in possession of your deputy during your absence, I presume?” Cas asked.

The abbot reddened. 

Yes”, he said warily. “You are not saying.....”

“I am not saying anything yet”, Cas cut in. “The dead man, not being of your faith, presumably had no friends or acquaintances here?”

“An imam from the local mosque came and asked to speak with him”, the abbot said, “and he was of course admitted at the gate, but the man refused to let him into the chamber.”

“And there is no other way into this room other than the main door and the connecting doors?”

“None”, the abbot said firmly.

“Is there a window in the room?” Cas asked.

“Yes, but it opens out directly onto the sea”, the abbot said. 

Cas seemed to think further. I did not like the heavy frown that had appeared on his features.

“I rather think I should speak with Prior Gustavus”, he said eventually, turning to me. “Doctor, in view of everything that that man has been through over the last few days, it might be better if I saw him alone. I do not wish to upset him even more, and I feel he may be intimidated if there are two of us.”

I was a little offended at being excluded in this way, and he clearly saw that.

“Perhaps you could stay with the abbot and discuss some of your unwritten cases”, he offered, and I noticed our host's eyes light up at the prospect. “I shall not be long.”

He left before I could object further, and I turned back to our host. At least I could trust him with some of the thus far unpublished cases. After all, he was God's own man!

III

Cas' interview took longer than I had expected, although the abbot and I were so busy talking that I only noticed how much time had passed upon his return. My friend suggested that we should all go and examine the scene of the crime as soon as possible, so we set off. At the door to the room we were met by someone who was obviously Prior Gustavus, a surprisingly young-looking blond beta who, I observed, was wearing a wedding-band. Once he had gone and we were inside, I commented on this to the abbot, who smiled.

“No, the man is not married, doctor”, he said. “His father and brother were killed in the last war against the Ottomans, and it is his father's ring. We do not of course allow married priests, but his sister-in-law does have a young child, and he is excused certain duties to visit her in Odessa and help out. She is raising her late husband's daughter by herself, so we do what little we can for her.”

“Very good of you”, Cas said. “Now, I have reviewed this case, and I am fairly sure I know what happened. If we can find sufficient evidence to back up that sequence of events, then a political disaster may be averted. I have two pieces of that evidence to start with.”

He produced from his pocket a large rock and a small round piece of metal, which he placed on a table.

“What are these?” the abbot asked, curiously.

“The rock comes from directly below the window over there”, Cas said, gesturing to a large bay window. “You will notice that there is a faint scrape of blue paint against one side. A boat has clearly rubbed up against it for some time, and also quite recently, otherwise the sea-tides would have washed it away.”

I gasped.

“The murderer came by sea!” I said. “And the ball?”

“That is typical of bearings used as part of a grappling-hook”, Cas explained. “The next part is more mundane, I am afraid. We will have to check the furniture in this room for scratch marks. Start with the heaviest items first, please.”

We only had to spend barely a minute looking before the abbot found something; scratch marks along one leg of the heavy table. 

“And they have been polished over!” I exclaimed. “The murderer tried to cover his tracks.”

Cas was bent down over by the window, and appeared to be placing something inside an envelope. Once he had finished, he brought it over for us to see.

“It looks like hair”, the abbot said dubiously.

“Hempen fibres”, Cas explained. “From a rope. The murderer gained access by getting a rope tied around the table leg, then hoisted themselves into the room by that rope.”

“But how could they do that from all the way down there?” the abbot objected.

Cas looked an him pointedly. There was a short silence.

“Prior Gustavus said that the man was stabbed”, he said eventually. “He clearly had reason to fear that someone was out to kill him, otherwise he would not have refused a visit from the local imam. But he did not fear his killer. He knew him well enough to open the window to him, then to secure the rope to allow him to gain entry, and finally - fatally - to let him get close. That was the last mistake he ever made.”

“One of his own people?” the abbot gasped. 

“The Ottoman Empire cannot afford another war at this time”, Cas pointed out, “and this man may well have dragged them into one. They could not risk it.”

“The Russians will be furious”, I said.

“True, but they will say and do precisely nothing”, Cas said. “They will hardly wish to admit that an enemy nation got an assassin into and out of one of their chief ports, totally unobserved, even if Trepoff is not technically Russian soil. No, the whole thing will be brushed under the carpet and quickly forgotten about, probably with a most undiplomatic turn of speed. And all for the best.”

I stared down at a faint red stain that even the efforts of the Abbey's cleaners had been so far unable to erase from the stone floor. All that remained of a kidnapper who had met a just end. I wondered what he had felt as the man who he must have thought had come to spirit him away had stabbed him.

I hoped it had hurt.

+~+~+

We returned to our hotel in Odessa that evening, after having stopped off to find out times of excursions to the Crimea. 

“I shall not be able to publish this case”, I said a little ruefully. “At least, not for many a year.”

My friend looked at me and smiled.

“Indeed”, he said. “And not for the reasons you are thinking, my friend.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

Cas went over and locked the door to our room, then came back and sat on his bed. He looked serious.

IV

“I mean all that palaver about a murderer coming and going by boat was total rubbish!” he said calmly.

I stared at him in shock.

“But the evidence!” I objected.

“That was why I spent so long with Prior Gustavus”, Cas explained. “We had to set things up so it looked convincing, at least enough to make the authorities stop looking for the real murderer.”

“Who is?” I asked eagerly.

He looked at me again, and smiled.

“Prior Gustavus, for one!”

I all but fell onto my bed, and it took some time before I could find my voice.

“But he's a monk!” I said feebly.

“He is also uncle to a child similar in age as the girl who was abducted”, Cas said gently. “When this monster took advantage of the Abbey's sanctuary rule, he took it upon himself to act as an agent of justice. After all, his target would never suspect a man of the cloth, would he?” He paused before adding, “you did not.”

My head swam.

“But the evidence!” I repeated, as my world view swam before me.

“Anyone can scrape some coloured wood against a rock”, he said, “and scratch a table then polish over it. And plant some rope fibre and a ball-bearing at the scene of a crime.”

I suddenly spotted a flaw in his logic.

“Aha!” I shouted triumphantly if inelegantly. “When he was stabbed, he'd have screamed out. And we know the room next door was occupied by the girl's elder brother. He'd have heard!”

Cas shook his head sadly.

“You are forgetting that the abbot had been away right up to when this happened”, he said gently. “Prior Gustavus was left in charge of the abbey, and hence had access to the keys. He used them to unlock the connecting door to allow the brother in. I would guess the prior gagged the victim whilst the brother stabbed him, almost certainly all the time telling him who he was and why he was doing it. The abbot's early return almost upset matters, but the deed was done.”

I huffed a laugh.

“What is it?” my friend asked, clearly surprised at my reaction.

“It's just that once again, we seem to be conniving at letting a murderer – two in this case – go free.”

Casteil moved until he was sitting directly opposite me, and took my hands in his.

“Answer me this, doctor”, he said seriously. “If, years ago, you had found someone doing something like that with someone you loved – what would your reaction have been?”

I didn't even need to think about it. Anyone who had hurt Cas – or Sammy - in anything like that way would have needed the services of a funeral director very soon. And as a doctor, I knew several ways of killing that were pretty much undetectable. I nodded.

“I see”, I said slowly. “Let us hope we can make it through the battlefields of the Crimea without your finding another murder that needs solving!”

+~+~+

As things turned out, we did. Though our return to England across the plains of the Continent was another matter. For on our way home, Cas and I would manage to stop a scandal in Bohemia....


	8. Case 43: The Girl Next Door (1888)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously entitled 'A Scandal In Bohemia'.

I

I enjoyed my tour of the battlefields of the Crimea, putting places to such familiar names as Balaclava and Sebastopol, but after only a few days of the planned week-long stop in Odessa, I found I was continuing to miss my Baker Street home. I was still plucking up the courage to broach the subject with my friend, until one day he suddenly turned to me and said simply, “London?”

“Oh yes!” I said fervently. 

My fears that I might be pushing my friend into an earlier than planned departure were swiftly proved groundless, as he had already arranged our return schedule, with stopovers in Krakow and Dresden, and later a night ferry from Rotterdam. I must admit that I was torn over the former; I had always held an admiration for the plucky Poles, but I really wanted to be back in Baker Street as soon as possible, and to feel the sodden mists of an English winter sinking into my bones. I discussed this with Cas, and he suggested spending one full day there (i.e. two nights at the hotel). 

Thanks to the efficacy of the new telegram system, I would come to regret that particular decision. On the other hand, I would get to see my friend solve a case in a town without even (technically) visiting it.

+~+~+

Here in the 1920s Poland is once more a free state, although with a wary eye to the ever-greedy Russian Empire (now the Communist Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) to the east, and the wounded but still formidable German Empire to the west, both of whose lands have been at least partially returned to their rightful owners. In those days, however, Krakow was the sole faintly flickering beacon of Polish freedom, begrudgingly granted a little extra autonomy out on the eastern march of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I enjoyed our day there, but it was marred when Cas and I returned exhausted to our hotel to find a telegram. I shuddered when he told me it was from his brother Balthazar. It could not be good news.

It was not.

“Balthazar wants me to investigate a small matter in a town called Lobositz, in the Sudetenland of Bohemia”, he said.

I frowned.

“Where on earth is that?” I asked.

He smiled.

“Fortunately not out of our way”, he said. “Lobositz is on the railway line from Prague to Dresden. And he wants me to meet someone involved with the case in Prague first, after which they will take us there.”

“He takes too much advantage of you”, I growled.

Cas smiled at me.

“You would do anything for your brother”, he pointed out.

“Yes, but Sammy is no Balthazar”, I countered, feeling mulish. “I am sorry, but I just do not like the man.”

“I do not think he likes you much, either”, Cas said. “He thinks you are a bad influence on me, making money out of my meager talents. That and your constant demands for sex!”

I opened my mouth to voice just what I thought of that, but just in time caught the twinkle in my friend's blue eyes. I scowled.

“I hate you!” I pouted.

He leaned across the table to me.

“Then I had better spend tonight working on changing that”, he growled.

The meal that evening was probably quite good, but I have no idea what it was as I spent most of it trembling in anticipation. What did he have in mind?

+~+~+

As a doctor, I knew this could not be good for me. I was splayed out on my huge bed, hands and feet tied to the four corners and sightless due to the silk blindfold that Cas had brought along with the cuffs. And somewhere in the room was a predatory alpha-sigma who, bastard that he was, had just taken a bath in some sort of salts that were preventing me from detecting his usual distinctive scent. I shuddered as the thought of what the headlines would be if I finally died through too much sex in a foreign hotel.

Then I felt Cas gently kissing my left ankle, and flinched. I flinched again when he brushed what felt like a feather against where he had just kissed me.

“Tickles”, I complained.

“Do I have to gag you as well?” he growled.

I shut up at once. Though it was hard (yes, that as well!) as lips and feather worked all the way up my left leg, only to ignore where the growing action was and work their way back down my right one. I was sure my heart-rate was far above what was healthy, but then he suddenly brushed the feather against my left nipple, and I lost any capacity for coherent thought, moaning in pure pleasure.

“You like that”, he said, as if he was observing a passing cab in the street rather than an English town doctor, blindfold and tied naked to a Polish hotel bed. “It really is something else, Dean, watching you pleasured in this way.”

I tried to say something, but then he started fondling my already full erection, and I just gave up. Though when I felt the familiar ring of cold steel being clamped into place at the base of my cock, I groaned. He was just being mean to me!

“You know you like this”, he said, rubbing a feather across my other nipple and following it up with a kiss that turned into a gentle bite. “The greater the delay, the more the pleasure when it finally happens.”

And the more the risk of my pegging out due to too much sex, I groused internally, though my body was apparently too busy to take any notice of my brain's complaints. Cas had now worked himself to between my legs, and he finally untied my legs so he could hoist me up to reach my entrance. And when the bastard used the feather there, I let out a guttural moan.

“Are you all right, Dean?” he asked anxiously.

I was blindfolded, naked, tied to a bed, had a cock-ring preventing me from orgasm, and about to be impaled by a well-hung fellow alpha. Hell, I was peachy!

“Get inside me, you horny bastard!” I grunted.

He chuckled darkly, and quickly worked me open before pushing almost straight in. Fortunately he had lubricated himself first, for he slid all the way inside easily. Unusually he managed to avoid my prostate, and I could not move enough to get him there. 

“I love you when you're like this”, he whispered, so quietly I could hardly hear him over my writhings. “I want to keep you on the edge all night, so I can see you when you are so beautiful, even more so than usual.”

I blushed. Though I knew that I was not ugly, Cas' praise for my looks always made me feel special. I could feel the pressure building in my balls, and wondered if I might break through the cock-ring. It was possible, I had heard. I strained at the binds on my hands, and fortunately he was flexible enough to reach and unbind them, allowing me to reach up and put my hands on his chest.

“Mine!" he growled. “My Dean. Always and forever!”

Viciously, I tweaked both his nipples at one and the same time. And with that he came inside me, somehow managing to simultaneously whip off the cock-ring. I came almost immediately after him, panting as if I had run a marathon and unable to do more than just fall back onto the bed, a broken man. He smiled down at me and wiped me down, before snuggling into bed beside me. I was about to pass out when he spoke.

“Round Two tomorrow morning?”

And that was why I sometimes hated him! It took me an age to get to sleep!

II

We checked out of our hotel in Krakow – the cab ride to the station was particularly painful, and Cas' smirk was totally unwarranted, even if he had been the cause – and some hours later arrived safely at the main station in Prague. There we checked into the station hotel, where Cas' brother had already reserved us rooms (excellent ones, but I was still feeling put out at the use of Cas' talents whilst he was supposed to be on holiday). Herr Francis Laval, the man that Balthazar Novak wanted us to meet, was apparently already in the city, but Cas’ brother (in a rare show of consideration) had insisted that he only see us the following morning. As we arrived quite late, I was grateful for this. I was even more grateful when Cas turned out to be in a snuggling mood that night, and I could get some well-deserved rest.

A card sent up with our breakfast told us that Herr Laval was already waiting downstairs to see us, despite the ungodly hour of the morning. Since it turned out that Balthazar was paying for everything, Cas ordered a double helping of extra bacon, and the way those blue eyes lit up and what was virtually half a pig on a plate was a joy to behold, especially when he tried as was his wont to cram several pieces into his mouth at once. And of course he brought his own bottle of Heinz Tomato Ketchup, without which he deemed any breakfast a tragedy.

God, I loved that man!

Herr Laval, it turned out, was the mayor of the town of Lobositz. He was a beta in his late forties, pale-skinned and white-blond, and seemed almost pathetically grateful that we had come to his rescue. Clearly whatever recent horror had enabled him to call upon the services of Balthazar Novak must have been bad, as he was shaking slightly as we met. I sincerely hoped that Cas could solve his mystery, whatever it was.

I mentally slapped myself for doubting my friend. Cas looked at me, clearly puzzled by my behaviour, and I smiled reassuringly at him.

“This, Mr. Novak, is a case of murder”, the mayor began. “And in my own home to boot!”

“Terrible”, Cas muttered. “Please begin at the beginning, sir, and leave no detail out, no matter how small.”

“It happened five days ago”, the mayor said, “at the mayoral ball. I had just been invested for another year, and it was decided to hold a fancy-dress ball to mark the start of my fourth term in office.”

Who decided?” Cas asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said 'it was decided'” Cas said. “By whom?”

The mayor had to think about that for some time.

“My daughter, Felicia”, he said at last. Then he went pale. “Mr. Novak, you do not think…..”

I rarely 'think'”, Cas said smoothly. “I prefer to know. It is quite possible that if this was part of whatever happened, then someone could have suggested the idea to your daughter, knowing that she would be able to persuade you. Is she your only daughter?”

The man nodded.

“Yes”, he said. “I have three sons; Frederick, Albert and Ernest, but I would do anything for dear Felicia.”

“Please continue with your story”, Cas said.

The mayor shook himself.

“The events of the evening revolve around four gentlemen, who adjourned to an upstairs room for some quiet smoking-time”, he said. “They left the main party at around eight; the dancing had just begun, and some people were moving to a side-room for….”

“Dramatis personae, if you please”, Cas cut in. I could see why; the mayor definitely seemed prone to ramble.

“My eldest son, Frederick, an alpha, is twenty-three years of age”, the mayor said. “Mr. Marcus Daventry, twenty-eight, the alpha son of my English friend Lord Peter Daventry, the Marquis of Dunsmore. Lord Peter is an acquaintance of your brother, Mr. Novak, which is how he became involved.”

)I should mention at this point that Lord Peter Daventry commanded great respect in the House of Lords at this time, and his opposition had already cost the government one bill. Little wonder that Balthazar Novak was involved with the son of someone so important.)

“Then there was Mr. James Barking”, the mayor continued, “Mr. Daventry’s thirty-one-year-old beta friend and travelling partner. And finally the victim, Herr Wilhelm Moritz, the twenty-eight-year-old beta son of one of the chief merchants in the area. His father lives next door to me in the town.”

Cas stared pointedly at the man, who shook under his azure gaze. I wondered why, until the mayor suddenly started up again.

“Young WIlhelm had had what I think you might call ‘an understanding’ with my daughter”, he said ruefully. “The romance of the girl next door is a cliché, but it does sometimes happen. However, when the Englishmen arrived in town two weeks ago, Felicia decided… well…..”

He tailed off, clearly embarrassed. I could see why.

“Let us resume your fascinating narration of the evening’s events”, Cas said. “Pray continue.”

The mayor seemed grateful for being saved from that line of questioning. As would I have been.

“Frederick saw Wilhelm in the garden about an hour later”, he continued, “and about an hour after that my wife saw him on the balcony above the main hall and called out to him as she was ascending the stairs. To her surprise he ignored her, and knocked at one of the bedroom doors along that corridor....”

“Whose door?” Cas asked.

“That of my third son, Ernest”, the mayor said. “He was away studying in Dresden at the time of the party.”

“That was fortunate for him”, Cas observed. “Was the room occupied by anyone else?”

The mayor stared at him in confusion.

“No”, he said.

“But Herr Moritiz presumably knew that your son was absent”, Cas explained, “so presumably he had an assignation with someone in that room. You said that your wife was ascending the stairs at the time. For what reason?”

Herr Laval looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“She wished to change her jewellery”, he said. 

I personally thought that rather weak, but Cas indicated that he should continue, which he was clearly glad to so.

“Wilhelm was admitted to the room, and my wife carried onto her own room, which was in the opposite direction. About three to five minutes passed, then there was the sound of a gun being fired from that very room, twice in quick succession. Everyone froze for a moment, then of course most of the gentlemen hurried to the room. Mr. Barking reached the door first – he had been on the stairs at the time - and it was locked, but he broke it down with one charge. By the time the rest of us got there, he was holding poor Herr Moritz' body. The man was clearly dead.”

“One moment”, Cas put in. “You said that Mr. Barking reached the dead man first. How long did he reach Herr Moritz before everyone else?”

The mayor looked puzzled.

“Probably no more than half a minute, if that”, he said. “There was something of a log-jam on the stairs as everyone tried to get up at once, you see, and the turn at the top is also rather tight. But the bullets had already been fired at that point.”

“Correction”, Cas said primly. “You had heard two bullets being fired, and had subsequently found a man who had been shot.”

The mayor looked perplexed.

“I should also add that there was one thing of interest in the room”, he said. “Or just outside it. The window out onto the balcony was open, and there was a muddy footprint on the balcony railing. The constable who called round later that evening also found marks that indicated that a rope had been tied around one of the balcony pillars.”

“A smart man, if he noticed that”, Cas observed. “Did the footprint match with the foot size of any of the three men?”

III

“Only Mr. Barking's”, the mayor said. “The other two had larger feet. But it was a poor quality shoe, very worn, and not the sort of thing a man of Mr. Barking's quality would be wearing.”

I stared curiously at the mayor.

“This seems too obvious”, I said suspiciously. “Why did the constable not arrest Mr. Barking, or at least ask him to remain under your custody?”

“Because we were able to rule Mr. Barking out almost immediately”, the mayor said, sounding almost rueful. “The doctor who examined the body of the victim noticed some unusual bruising on his, Mr. Barking’s, body, and asked about it. The man claimed that he suffered from a disease which makes his bones more brittle than usual. Not so that it imposes on his daily life, but there are certain activities – including firing any weapon – which would be beyond him. I understand the police checked this via electronic telegraph, and found it to be true. So that leaves my own son and an English lord. We can have either a family catastrophe or an international incident!”

He looked so down I felt like laughing, however inappropriate that would have been. Fortunately I did not.

“Where were these two men at the time the body was found?” Cas asked.

“The local constable asked that”, the mayor said distastefully. “Lord Daventry was walking alone in the garden, and Frederick was, ahem, in the lavatory.”

“And your daughter?” Cas asked. The mayor frowned, but answered the question.

“She was resting in her own bedroom, which is two doors down from where the tragedy occurred. The doctor later gave her a sedative for the shock.”

“You say this was a costume ball”, Cas said. “What did each of these men come as?”

The mayor frowned at the question.

“Really, Mr. Novak, I do not see the relevance….”

“Humour me”, Cas pressed. The mayor sighed in a put-upon way.

“Frederick came as D’Artagnan, one of Dumas' Musketeers”, he said, frowning as he tried to remember. “All ruffs and bows; he nearly caught fire when he stood too close to one of the candles, the idiot! Lord Daventry came as a pirate, in quite a good costume, very ornate as well. Mr. Barking came as Shakespeare's Falstaff, and was rather good, although as a thin man he needed a lot of padding. And Wilhelm came as King Frederick II of Prussia, which was rather tactless of him.”

I looked at Cas in surprise.

“There are many in that area who would rather prefer to be part of Germany than Austria”, he explained, before turning back to the mayor. “And your daughter?”

The mayor blushed.

“She came dressed as a cat-burglar”, he muttered, clearly embarrassed at the memory. “Had I known beforehand I would have forbidden it, but she only came down once several of the guests had arrived, and of course many of them – especially the alphas – liked it. It was highly improper!”

I suppressed a smile.

“Tell us what happened concerning the smoking-room”, Cas urged.

“The gentlemen went upstairs around eight, as I said, and spent an hour in the room smoking and talking. Felicia went up to join them – again, not something I approve of, but she is rather too modern - around a quarter to nine. There was some mild altercation between Wilhelm and Lord Daventry over her affections when she arrived, but Mr. Barking – who admitted it to me - managed to smooth things over. It ended with Felicia and Wilhelm adjourning to a private room to, ahem, discuss matters.”

Cas frowned. 

“What are your eldest son’s feelings on this matter?” he asked.

The mayor reddened.

“Really, Mr. Novak, I do not see….”

“Herr Laval, I am effectively a doctor of science”, Cas said patiently. “You would not go to a doctor like Winchester here and only provide him with half of your symptoms, and then expect an accurate diagnosis. As I said earlier, I need all the facts, even those you yourself may think irrelevant. Please answer the question.”

The man sighed.

“Frederick was angry with Felicia for changing her mind”, he said. “He thought Wilhelm a perfectly good match, even though he is seven years older than my daughter. And he thought Felicia was only after Lord Daventry for his money.”

Which she probably was, I thought but did not say. Judging from my friend’s heavy silence, he felt the same way. Cas thought for some time.

“When the doctor examined the body, did he say anything?” he asked.

“He thought the man may have been lying down when he was shot, which is of course quite impossible!” the mayor snorted.

“On the contrary”, Cas said. “It is exactly as I would have expected, given the circumstances. Tell me, which rooms adjoin your youngest son's bedroom?”

“To the left is a spare bedroom, which Felicia's friends use when they come over”, he said. “My second son, Albert, who was visiting a friend in Bonn, sleeps in the room on the other side.”

My friend sighed, sounding almost unhappy.

“I have another unusual question”, he said eventually, “and it is very important. Herr Laval, I need you to describe the physical appearances of all five characters in this story. Please be as exact as possible.”

“Frederick is very tall – he gets that from his mother – blond and muscular. He is considering a career in the army, and I think he would do very well, as he can be aggressive when pushed. Mr. Barking, as I said, is incredibly thin, and several inches taller than average; I was surprised he was able to carry Falstaff off so well. He is also dark-haired and rather plain. Lord Daventry is short, blond, has a long nose and is extremely muscular; I believe he is highly skilled in one of the eastern fighting arts, though I do not know which one. He is not physically unattractive, but I can see my son’s point that Dunsmore Hall is his most attractive feature. And Wilhelm was dark-haired, slightly below average height and very slim. He was one of those people who could seem to eat anything and never put on weight.”

I eyed the mayor's more than ample girth and bit back a catty remark. Though my friend still shot me a warning look. 

“And your daughter?” Cas pressed. The mayor frowned.

“She is petite, almost frail, black hair and a little below average height”, he said. “Mr. Novak, I do not see the point of this.”

Cas sighed heavily.

“Perhaps it would have been nice to visit your little town, Herr Laval”, he said with a wan smile, “but the doctor and I should be getting back to England.”

“But the case!” the mayor spluttered.

“The case is solved”, Cas said quietly.

“But how?” the mayor demanded. “Which of the men was the murderer?”

IV

“None of them”, Cas said. “I am sorry, sir, but there is no easy way to break this to you. Wilhelm Moritz was murdered by your own daughter, Felicia.”

The man gasped, and I was sure that he would have collapsed had he not been sat down.

“Sir, I must protest!” he began.

“I will tell you why, first”, Cas said. “I am only uncertain as to one matter in this case, and that is precisely how far the relationship between your daughter and Herr Moritz had proceeded before she decided to accept the suit of Lord Daventry. I would only hope that a child is not involved….”

The mayor had gone very white.

“… but it may be that she and Herr Moritz merely had some sort of signed understanding which would have rendered it impossible for Lord Daventry to pursue his suit. I hope for all our sakes that the latter is indeed the case.”

I remembered, belatedly, that I had a hip-flask of whisky on my person, and poured the entire contents into a glass before offering it to the stunned mayor. He drank it down in one shot without apparently registering it, but a little colour reappeared on his cheeks.. 

“I happen to know a little of the Marquis of Dunsmore”, Cas said, “and I am certain that, as your daughter swiftly realized, he would disinherit any son who tried to form a union with a lady already betrothed, no matter to what extent. But if the person she was betrothed to had died… that would be another matter entirely.”

“Felicia would never do anything like that!” the mayor objected. Cas shook his head.

“She meets with Herr Moritz, most probably in the empty bedroom next to her own, and persuades him to drink something that will knock him out”, he said. “This is the even more unfortunate part, because what comes next shows that there was considerable planning for this dark deed. She had secured the keys to the house, so the room she uses is locked, whilst the connecting doors to her and your youngest son's room are unlocked. She then dons the 'Frederick the Great' costume over her own and slips back into the party, but is careful not to speak to anybody, lest her voice give her away.”

“How can you know all this?” the mayor asked, aghast.

“You described the costumes and build of each player in this drama”, Cas explained. The only person who could have doubled for Herr Moritz for two hours had to have had a similar height and build, and also had to have a costume over which another costume could have been worn. Also, the shots that killed the victim had to have been fired from extremely close range, otherwise they would have been heard.”

“It was your daughter, disguised as Herr Moritz, who made sure that ‘Frederick the Great’ was seen to enter the fatal room at a time when Herr Moritz was already dead. It takes her only a few minutes to remove Herr Laval's costume and dress the still-drugged man in it, then shoots her victim twice, which is why he was lying down when shot. She knew that from the gunshots she would have barely a minute to make her escape through the connecting door. Which she does.”

“What about proof?” I asked. “If she denies it, a jury may well believe her.”

Cas looked pityingly at the mayor.

“I think if the police analyze Miss Laval's costume closely enough”, he said, “they will find traces of the king's costume that she wore over it for at least an hour. Similarly there may be fragments of her costume on the inside of her victim's, if it has not already been disposed if. There may also be gunshot residue on her hands; no amount of washing will truly remove it, and it may still be detectable. I dare say that a further examination of the body will show that the victim was shot some time after death, as of course at the time the examining doctor was told that the man had been alive just seconds before he was shot. And that examination may also yield evidence of the drug he was given, which would preclude his being the person your wife saw entering the room.”

“My daughter is a killer”, the mayor said heavily.

“I am sorry”, my friend said. “But there can be no doubt in the matter.”

The man seemed to pull himself together.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Novak”, he said. “Your brother was right. You are indeed an agent of justice, not just the law.”

+~+~+

The following day, Cas did not even look up from his paper when our train paused briefly at Lobositz Station, en route to Dresden. I too had had more than enough of the Continent, and we had already decided to forgo the German city and head for home as quickly as possible. Thankfully we made good time to Rotterdam and the night ferry to Sheerness. There was a telegram waiting for Cas in the Dutch port, and he sighed as he read it.

“Balthazar says that Felicia Laval has left the family home in Lobositz”, he said. “Alone.”

“Better a life on the road than a length of rope”, I suggested.”I pity any man who is foolish enough to get too close to that lady.”

He nodded, and we boarded the ship together. We were nearly home.

+~+~+

Next time, we are safely back in England. And there is a connection to the distant island of Ceylon......


End file.
